


In Cold Blood

by velociraptors



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Inspired by Shape of Water, M/M, MT Prompto Argentum, Male Slash, Mermaids, Mild Gore, Romance, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Slow Burn, fish sex but not really, which is very obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptors/pseuds/velociraptors
Summary: Written for @orchidias as a birthday gift! Mermaid ("Mermay") Alternate Universe where Prompto is a security MT in a research facility in Niflheim and is reassigned to guard a laboratory when Niflheim receives a special new prisoner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orchidias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidias/gifts).



> AU notes: MTs in this universe are genetically enhanced laboratory-created clones using Verstael's DNA. They have not been infused with daemons so they are closer in behavior to the original Storm Trooper clone army from Star Wars than FFXV MTs. 

**001.**

A single chill wriggles its way down Prompto's spine as he stands firm in front of the inspector, a bespectacled man in a lab coat who drags his feet in front of them as he walks while they all remain lined up like a single unit. Prompto stands at the very the center of the queue, his face hidden behind a firm mask that he takes some refuge in as he struggles not to surrender to the chaotic twisting of his stomach tissue during the morning security briefings.

The routine always begins with a simple observation test -making certain their uniform is compliant, finely pressed, and orderly; their weapons are well-stocked; they're only using approved firearms and haven't brought in any contraband from the outside. Once the initial inspection is complete, they have to pass through all the scanners and complete the manual pat-downs. That's when two other Niflheim officials flank him, one to feel along his limbs and torso, the other to scan the barcode on his wrist with a poignant beep before he's ushered forward. 

"MT - 05953234 checks out," the officer announces before he's released. 

His firearms are then removed so that they can be taken apart and analyzed.

"No rounds shot since yesterday's check-out," another officer adds while Prompto is left to stand completely still, holding his breath until his weapons are finally returned to him, one standard issue rifle and one handgun to be worn at all times while on duty. 

The last check is his helmet to make sure the built-in camera is functioning as well as all the detection and vision functions on the visor are up to code. Prompto rarely even has to rely on them anymore, having grown adept at using his own innate spatial recognition to hit his targets, and he never lets himself miss. There are great deal of other areas he's deficient in, but shooting -shooting is something he does well. It's why he's always on surveillance and patrol duty. No room for real advancement but also no room for discharge unless he screws up badly enough. Fortunately, he's given superb results since he graduated from the training program. 

It's one reprieve he clings to as he's finally cleared, handed his badge and sent on through. He's been assigned to the Research Chief's lab for two years now where he guards the lower levels, the area where they keep some of the larger specimens they've captured. Some of those creatures are beyond disturbing, even to something like himself as he's forced to watch them tremble in their tanks everyday, pull themselves apart, multiply in distress then die in a hundred decayed pieces. The pudding-like creatures scream the loudest as they drag their own bodies to each end of the tank, tearing themselves down the center while their gelatinous insides leak out, and they usually have a few days of misery before they decompose completely due to lack of nutrients. That is when their remains have to be carried down to the furnace and burnt completely, leaving nothing at all behind. The tanks are then cleaned and made into a home for the next specimen. 

Some of the most unusual specimens he'd seen were dragon-like creatures with a wing span that stretched from one end of the room to the other. They were suspended from the ceiling on hooks as the Chief injected them with all sorts of fluids until they were forced to produce eggs, but none of the eggs had any embryos inside. To this day, he doesn't know what happened to the eggs or why the Chief had been so interested in them. He just knows that the draconian beasts hadn't lived very long, starved until they had been turned to bone and leather strips of skin hanging from their skeletons, their wastes all collected in one acrid pile beneath their corpses. 

The MTs that performed terribly in combat are usually put on cleaning duty, forced to scrub whatever drips in and out of the lab or do away with the bodies. Prompto would hate to have to deal with the sickening, curdling scent of death and decay on a daily basis, his stomach already lurching from just the thought. His haven is a simple security guard position, situating himself outside a single lab door, watching different creatures being wheeled in and out, barely having to interact with them. The scientists will occasionally warn him to stand by in case any of the creatures try to escape, but the reinforced magitech tanks are impossible to open from the inside and can sustain heavy impact close to one ton in weight. Verstael had just about thought of every lucrative method of escape to protect his precious horde. 

If Prompto were in any position to speak, perhaps he'd protest the mistreatment of all those creatures, but he isn't even sure if he could rationalize them existing. They aren't natural. There is all too something warped and diseased about them, as though time itself were causing them to devolve into monstrosities instead of advancing forward. It's that justification that nurses him when he hears them screech and howl in terror. _They're not supposed to exist. They'll harm others if they do. This is the right thing._

The mantra whirls through his head never-ending as he pays a glance to the automatic doors before him. The east lab seems quieter than usual, almost eerily so, a veritable desert preparing itself for the storm to come. What will Verstael bring them today? He almost doesn't want to think about it, instead focusing on when lunch time is and trying to play cartoons in his head to pass the time. He's one of the lucky few that gets his own studio apartment where others have to share bunks, but it hadn't come easy. A few sniped out intruders earned him good marks, ones he hopes to continue so he can maybe one day be reassigned out of Gralea, maybe see whatever lies beyond the steel monolith horizon he's woken up to every morning as far as he can remember. 

It's a thought he keeps revisiting as he idly observes the last of the MTs pass inspection. Only one gets marked down for demotion which is a lot better than extermination. Because they're expensive to create and enhance, the scientists try and avoid extermination unless absolutely necessary -if a unit is beyond reconditioning. He almost faced that fate himself as a kid when his body continued to put on too much weight without control. No one could explain the rapid onset weight gain, and his diet had to be severely restricted. 

These days, he's on a rigid exercise and training schedule to keep his agile physique, but he still feels the ancient hunger pangs, a pervasive urgency that he always has to leave unanswered. Some days, the ache is so pronounced, he can hardly focus, but he knows if he falters once more, Verstael won't even give him a second shot. They already expended enough efforts to get him here, so he's done his best not to mess up. Just follow protocol. _Keep his head down, eyes lowered, don't stand out._  

The only one that pays him any mind is the head of their security unit, a normal human by the name of Gladio. He'd been brought in among the refugees from Lucis after the invasion and had only been a teenager around that time. Prompto remembers first running into him in the lab treadmills next to him, eyes trained forward, barely paying mind to his surroundings. He had the gaze of a coeurl on the hunt, sharp and hyper-focused as though he were sprinting to catch up to some prey. His whole demeanor reflected that same rigidity, a seemingly immovable shield of a man, but they managed to bond over, of all things, gaming apps. 

Even though Prompto wasn't allowed to keep a personal phone, he had a private one that he found inside the laboratory dump and modified himself when he was a teen. One of the few and only numbers on it is Gladio's, so they're able to relay messages back and forth in secret -not that they have a whole lot to talk about. Gladio's life revolves around his duties and his sister, though he's heard from the scientists that he's fairly popular among their female officers. Lucky guy -though he can't say he doesn't have sympathy for him either. After losing his father and his home, he'd been forced to serve under the Niflheim army to keep his sister alive and safe. Such is the fate of most of the refugees here, all assimilated under one empire with only a few rebel factions on the outside that the empire has been squashing for some time now. 

Fortunately, Prompto's been spared from seeing any kind of action like that. Only their best MTs get sent out for those kinds of missions. The grunt workers like him just have to make sure nothing gets in or out of the facility without authorization, and the break-ins are so few and far between that boredom ends up being his greatest enemy. Today is no different as his eyes follow the slow-changing digital clocks while several white-clad scientists pass by without a word. Only one of them raises his hand in greeting, a familiar face -one of Verstael's many protege. Gladio had mentioned in passing that the guy came from Lucis like himself, another refugee forced to work for the empire. 

He somehow seems more animated today as he discusses something in a rapid whisper with the other scientists. Prompto only manages to catch a few fragmented bits and pieces.

"Too small-" 

"-unknown variables." 

"-needs a proper filtration system." 

Far too many puzzle pieces missing for him to put it all together, but he assumes they're discussing one of the specimens. Another of the older scientists makes a curved motion with both his hands as though he's trying to mime an hour glass which makes him wonder if it's a female-type specimen. There was one that looked part woman and part spider but still far too grotesque to be anything even remotely tantalizing. Yet she had mammary glands for some reason unknown to the scientists, considering she couldn't at all produce milk.

Another scientist shakes his head furiously before marching off, and perhaps realizing Prompto might hear them, the rest of them immediately follow suit and shut the door between the lab and the hall, sealing Prompto out. 

It's just as well. It's not like he was _really_ all that curious anyway. He can find other ways to entertain himself, his hands idly tracing some of the rivets on the door before playing a subtle game with himself to see if he can untie his own boot laces without using his hands. It isn't until lunch is closing in before the utter stillness outside of the lab is broken as Verstael cuts through the hall with his lumbering steps and an enraged scowl on his face. 

"Clear the way," he yells at him, and there are several MTs marching after him with some tightly-wrapped body on a gurney. Several chains surround the cocoon of blankets holding it at bay as it squirms in every direction, most likely carrying a new specimen inside. 

Prompto can only spot the lower end of some sort of fin spilling out from the edge of the gurney, the color of it standing out starkly from the sterile white walls of the research facility. The blue-purple gradient is fanned out into a beautiful chevron shape with the ends looking wispy and slightly prismatic. Even with the tail, the specimen isn't that much longer in length than a human which makes him curious to see the uncovered portion. However, Verstael wastes no time in having the gurney rushed into the lab and the doors shut again.

The walls are too insulated for him to hear anything further, vacuum sealed to the point where even screams can't break through, but no one has hit any of the alarms which means there is no eminent attack. Probably for the better. The high-ranked MTs are usually good at containing threats, and their technology has come a long way in securing specimens once they've been captured, rendering them helpless and at Verstael's mercy. 

When another surveillance MT shows up to take his spot for his lunch break, the doors hiss open once more behind him. This time, it's Gladio's steadfast gait that greets him as he places a large hand on his shoulder. His grave expression is already knotting up Prompto's abdomen tightly, a savage, cloying sensation that tosses up whatever acid has gathered there until the flavor of it licks the back of his throat, and he can't help but feel as though he'd done something wrong though he'd barely moved at all since check-in. 

"You're needed in the lab," Gladio tells him, guiding Prompto inside in a manner that suggests there is no escape.

The cool temperature of the lab hits him everywhere at once as Prompto steps inside, and he has to avoid appearing feeble in front of the room of scientists by doing something like hugging his own arms like he wants to or surrendering to the deeply-embedded under-skin shivers that wear at his control. Instead, his eyes remain set forward, watching the dim, blue lights cast eerie shadows on everyone's face until he realizes none of them have even noticed him. Rather, they're all staring at the specimen as it rolls this way and that, still fighting with its bindings. Its caudal fin looks more translucent in this light as the opalescent colors shimmering rather entrancingly, and the other half of it is still shrouded, though Prompto can see strands of hair poking out from the thick cloth around its upper torso. A mammal then? Or some strange hybrid... it wouldn't be the first he's seen come through the lab doors, but he wonders what all the scientists are furiously scribbling about.

The gentle-eyed one he recognizes as Gladio's friend looks the most troubled out of them all, his brow pinched towards the center of his forehead before he speaks quietly- "We should move it into an aquatic environment as soon as possible." 

"Yes," Verstael agrees, "though it can spend a remarkable amount of time outside of water. It's almost amphibian in nature. We should test its limitations properly and in due time." 

Prompto keeps his breath trapped in his mouth and his presence unobtrusive as he backs away into some of the longer shadows cast by the machinery and equipment around them. He still isn't sure what Gladio summoned him for but knows he will find out soon enough as the human crooks his finger and motions him closer.

"You'll be changed to night shift surveillance inside the lab," Gladio whispers to him, his voice abrupt and almost urgent, "The chief has ordered we increase security around the facility as a result of his new acquisition." 

There's no question about what Gladio is referring to, yet Prompto can't help allowing his gaze to cross over questioningly to the still squirming sac of limbs and fins just a few meteres away. He isn't sure if this counts as a promotion of sorts or if he was chosen because he's considerably more expendable than some of the more top-tier MTs. If the creature were to break loose and go on a rampage, he wouldn't exactly be missed, a sobering thought as he mulls over Gladio's words. It's not as though he's being given an ultimatum either. An order is an order. There's little he can do but accept the harried change of his sleep schedule. 

It's a thought that continues to gnaw at his mind even after he's dismissed for the day with little introduction to what he's guarding. He only gets to watch the engineers and research assistants carefully construct a large tank for it, one that takes up nearly the entire size of the room, and Gladio's friend directs the building efforts to make it more habitable with sand, coral, and salt water plants until it looks like a near-identical replica of an ocean floor. The man even takes the time to adjust the water temperature and salinity to ensure it's as hospitable as possible before finally sparing a glance at Prompto. 

There's a slight upturn of his lips, a subtle quirk to the corners that Prompto latches onto as he contemplates waving hello in return. 

"I suppose we will be working closely together from now on," the young scientist says before extending his hand more properly. "Ignis Scientia, the Senior Research Coordinator for this facility." 

Prompto tries not to shake the offered hand too aggressively, though he can't help but feel that hint of a smile is rather infectious. Humans always have that affect on him whenever they mistake him for one of their own, as though he could ever pass. Under the helmet, he wears the same face as every other MT, indiscernible from one another in every way except the barcode. The number printed on it. The only unique part about himself, both treasured and loathed. 

Even though his sleeve covers up the imprint, he still feels it burnt onto the surface of his skin, a lingering reminder that he ignores as he blurts out, "Call me Prompto," in a statement of near-rebellion to his MT number.

The request gives Ignis pause, the scientist's nose wrinkling a bit beneath his slender frames before one fine eyebrow twitches in question. "As you wish, Prompto. I will see you in the evening." 

A lingering promise that fills Prompto with some kind of elation. Perhaps it's the sudden interruption of routine, the welcoming opportunity to see something more than the sterile lab walls he's greeted by each day. The beginning of a new chapter, one would say. He hasn't felt this way since he'd initially been released from his bunk in the MT training facility and had received his first assignment, so maybe the change might not be so bad. It's a thought he continues to entertain as he enters the metro rail after work, riding home beneath a maelstrom of city lights,nowhere near as intoxicating as the mystic blue from inside that lab. 

 

**002.**

Everything already feels different the first night of guard duty. Waking up in his apartment without the sun tickling his face, the howl of the first sirens of the night as crime explodes on the streets below. There's a pronounced ache on his neck from tossing about in bed as his body had tried desperately to readjust to the new schedule to no avail. It will take some time. 

His 'breakfast' is light, a bowl of fruit and yogurt before he runs on personal his standard-issued treadmill. After that, it's weight training, target practice, calisthenics. The ritual never leaves his body no matter how long it's been since he's been in the facility, moving on auto-pilot through each new exercise until it's time to wash up, make sure he's properly sterilized everywhere. A few light hairs sprinkle the area under his chin before he shaves them off until he looks presentable. The last part is his uniform, pressed and pristine. The name tag reads his number, though his barcode is always scanned regardless. If it's not a match, then interrogation and possible extermination take place. The usual. 

Prompto always leaves his helmet off until he reaches work, addicted to the cool autumn breeze as it coils around the surface of his skin and parts his hair. Back when he used to wear his helmet on the train, the children would gawk at him awkwardly and point, asking him if he was a robot. Sometimes, he'd amuse himself by walking up to them and talking like one until they giggled, but Verstael would grow livid when he'd review the video recordings afterwards.

Another valid reason to keep it off. 

He doesn't like the idea of so much of his life being data-logged and kept on official record for the higher-ups to review and use as fuel against him. It's easier to stay off their radar, but he knows that's going to be next to impossible now that he's moved into an area of higher security. The number of surveillance around him will only grow all the more oppressive, already feeling sharp eyes on him as he approaches the research facility. 

The scanners whirl around him with their welcoming symphony before his barcode is beeped in. The usual review and identification then the issuing of his firearms -a reminder to check them in at the end of the day. 

"MT - 05953234 reporting for duty," he announces in his feigned neutral tone before he's walked inside, flanked by high officials on either end. 

Gladio awaits him in front of the lab, making sure to perform the imperial salute then let them all inside. The ethereal blue glow greets them all, enveloping their bodies in an aquatic hallucination while the specimen lies on the furthest end of the tank from where they stand, curled up behind the coral, but Prompto can catch bits of white flesh peeking out, the bare color rather distinguishable against the bright reds, yellows, and oranges of the coral. 

Prompto's eyes can't help but continue to follow the curve of its fish tail, immediately drawn to the reflective surface of the scales, the myriad of blue-purples that eventually transform into a midnight hue, highlighting the tips of some of the scales until they connect to something close to human flesh. He'd never seen a specimen that closely resembles a human so much before, yet he remembers what the scientist had said yesterday -about it being amphibian-like in nature. A true hybrid even if it might be impossible to explain how two halves of completely disparate animals became this intimately stitched together. 

His own understanding of evolution is limited to what human intervention can create. To Verstael, MTs are the prototype for the next step in human evolution. And past that, he doesn't know what will become of humanity, if they'll detach themselves further from their vulnerabilities just to continue to survive, remove every weakness until they can walk across the planet like Astrals. Then what of the anomalies they find, creatures like this with little hope for survival. The moment it had fallen into their hands, its death warrant had been signed, and he doesn't know if the specimen is even aware of that yet. 

The large tank draws him further inside as he moves in for a closer look, trying to peer past all the columns of bubbles that arise from the filtration system. He can read a set of numbers on the far right corner: S-0234. The same last three digits of his own MT number. He wonders if it had been done on purpose or just pure coincidence. Regardless of the answer, he already feels a weird kinship with the creature he's being made to guard, which he knows he probably shouldn't develop. Verstael told him they don't name the specimens for that reason -same as why they don't name MTs. Humans develop attachments to things that have names. Humans _empathize_ with things that have a name.

But Prompto finds it hard to keep that distance -prefers to name everything from himself to his phone to his camera because it had taken him so long to know what it's like to truly own anything for himself, and now, this creature is his responsibility in a way. Bound by three numbers and a small lab room. 

The young scientist, Ignis, is already nursing a cup of coffee when he comes over to greet him, and Prompto can tell from his expression that he's probably spent most of his hours here since they'd brought in the specimen. It's not unusual for the research team to sleep in the facility, taking one of the many side bunks to recharge and using the shower stations in the purification level. He can't say he blames him either. It's not everyday they come across an entirely new and undocumented species, so he must be running himself through the ground doing all kinds of tests and observations. He can see the stacks of data already accumulated on his workstation where another empty mug lies. 

"How's it looking?" 

The question creeps up over his shoulder where Gladio is stationed, finally breaking through the litany of formalities as he places a hand against the tank glass. There's something curious and full of wonder in the human's expression, his eyes trained on the specimen without any hint of disgust or horror. He'd never seen him look that way at anything that's crossed through those lab doors, though Prompto wonders if the traces of curiosity he detects are just his own imagination. It's not as though Gladio has ever bothered hiding his emotions. In the years they'd known one another, he's always made his contempt for the empire rather palpable, which makes Prompto wonder why they promoted Gladio to such a high position. It may have just been the empire posturing to gain favor with the other refugees from Lucis. 

The thoughts continue to percolate inside his mind while Ignis plants himself at the tank's edge as well, watching the same scene unfold that they all are. 

"We've determined to some extent that the specimen is male due to the build and musculature of his upper body, but his age range could be anywhere from young adult to centuries. We've no other specimens of this type to compare, but his dentition already appears to be rather developed." 

Prompto wouldn't even have been able to guess himself, his eyes now moving over the crooked arm peeking out from behind the coral and noticing the faint scaling patterns that stain his human-like flesh in several distinct patches. 

"Because of the illumination in the room," Ignis continues, "it's difficult to make out his full bioluminescence found within his scales."

 _Biolumi-what?_ Prompto almost asks the question out loud but thinks better of it. Best not to draw attention to himself.

"Turn off the lights," Ignis then orders one of the research assistants, and within seconds, the whole room is completely rendered black, every other body in there indistinguishable from the next. The only thing visible in the darkness is the bluish-white patterns that start to glow ethereally from the specimen's body. It's beautiful, and Prompto can't help but feel transfixed by the glow, fighting off every urge to step closer to the glass himself, press his face against it, watch the lights move. They must look all the more breath-taking when they specimen is swimming, and he suddenly wonders if there are more of him out there -a whole family. _A whole civilization_ , all living at the bottom of the ocean.

When the lab lights are flipped back on, several of the researchers around start blinking to clear the spots still spilled across their vision while Prompto shifts his gaze back to Ignis.

"Amazing," Gladio whispers, acting as an unwitting mouthpiece for Prompto at the moment, "so what do you think it means?"

"Because this trait is commonly seen in deep sea fish, we believe he originally came from the lower bathypalegic zone in the Northeastern region of Lucis. That part of the sea had been left unexplored for centuries because of its depth, the extreme lack of oxygen and light, and the intensity of the pressure at that level. It was also previously surmised that whatever was down there would be micro in scale due to the lack of oxygen, but this could prove that theory incorrect. There is still much to be learned." 

Most of the explanation goes over Prompto's head, but he does wonder why a creature that supposedly lives that far down in the ocean had ended up being caught. There are so many questions he wants to ask but knows he shouldn't. MTs aren't supposed to be curious. 

He hears Ignis draw out a sigh as he adjusts his glasses on his face. "I'd like to study him for a bit longer, but Verstael will more than likely mark him for autopsy. I am afraid he will let the specimen atrophy before we can truly learn anything." 

As he does all the others, but something about it this time strikes a very punctuated cord in the back of his brain. Perhaps it's because of how scared and withdrawn the specimen seems, as though it's intelligent enough to feel insecure and self-conscious.

"I'll put in a write-up on the benefits of letting him live, but I can't guarantee results." 

Gladio makes a soft noise of understanding in the back of his throat before his lips curl in slight disgust. "Do what you can," is all he says before drawing away from the tank. His attention then fixes back on Prompto before he tosses him something dark. 

Prompto's reflexes kick into gear, and he catches the item swiftly then glances down at his hands. It's a new phone. 

"Niflheim let me issue one to you for emergencies. You'll be alone in the room with Ignis for the night shift, but don't hesitate to call me if something comes up." 

There's a grin tossed at him that Prompto doesn't feel he's earned, yet he can stamp down on his own reflex to smile back as he stares at the cell phone. It's certainly a lot nicer than the beat-up one he fixed up for himself, though there's no doubt that Niflheim has all sorts of trackers and monitoring devices inside to keep tabs of every conversation he has on it. He'll just have to play around with it later and alter those 'enhancements.' 

"Thanks," Prompto tells him a moment later, removing all pretense of playing the stoic guard for a moment, "do I want to know what strings you had to pull to get me one?" 

"Best not to ask," Gladio tells him then pats his upper arm and delivers a quick wave of parting to Ignis before he excuses himself out of the lab for the night. 

The other research assistants start to disappear one by one as the night wears on until there's only Ignis left with him, the older man typing seemingly without end at his workstation. Prompto catches him yawn discreetly behind his hand a few times and fights off his own weariness before he accidentally yawns too in a way he knows he shouldn't because MTs aren't supposed to have those autonomic functions that humans do, but as long as no one catches him, then no one asks questions. 

His eyes keep occasionally dancing their way back to the curled up specimen who hasn't moved from his spot since they arrived, making Prompto fear for a moment that he may have died already. The flesh on his top half looks almost corpse-like already, a translucent sheen stretched out over a map of bright blue veining that he can see a little too clearly, and he wonders what his face looks like beneath those crooked arms and hair. Wait, idn't he have more hair yesterday? He could have sworn there was a whole waterfall of it spilling out, but they must have cut it off to examine it. He wonders what else they must have removed. Blood samples? Scale samples? Nails, teeth, eyelashes... if he even has any of those. 

He might be staring too intently because Ignis ends up turning to him and addressing him when he shouldn't be -he's not supposed to be distracted while he's on duty. 

"Come here. Could you help me with something?" 

Why even ask? Ignis can just order him around like everyone else does. Still, he bothers to give the man an answering nod before he marches up next to him and awaits further instruction. He doesn't expect for the man to reach up and disable his helmet in a single, calculated move before gesturing to him to finish removing it  all the way. 

"You don't have to stand there stationary the entire time. The facility is securely alarmed, and the specimen is under heavy sedation still. In fact, that's all the Chief has been giving him since he arrived." 

Even while being relieved of his helmet and his post, it's difficult for Prompto to relax, still feeling as though they're still being watched somehow. Cameras pointing too keenly in their direction, Verstael's eyeballs practically growing out of every rivet in the wall. He knows nothing ever escapes the old man's notice, and Ignis is being a little bold in his disobedience at the moment.

"I-is that what you needed help with?" he brings himself to ask, his voice small and hesitant. 

The young scientist smiles slightly before pulling close a tray filled with containers that almost look like tupperware. 

"A start," he replies, "As I said, the specimen hasn't been fed, and Verstael technically hasn't delivered the order to perform a dissection yet." 

Prompto watches Ignis promptoly remove the lids, revealing the containers to be full of various foods -fruits, vegetables, grains, sea kelp, krill, and garula meat. 

"As with all animals, it's a manner of feeding one item at a time in a controlled environment until we find out what he can eat and what will cause him harm. I'm going to need you to open a small hatch at the top of the tank and pour a measured amount of the first container marked 'one', and we shall wait to see if it provokes him." 

"Seems easy enough." 

In theory. In practice, Prompto has never fed any of their specimens, and he's almost worried the specimen will suddenly dart upwards and bite his arm off if he tries. Even thinking about the possibility leaves him feeling really unsteady as he climbs the portable staircase in the lab to the top of the tank and opens the small hatch.

Instead of dropping the food down right away, he peers through the vibrating water's surface, spotting straight down below the wispy dark strands of hair as they float upwards. It's the closest to the specimen he's ever been thus far, only a few liters of water between them, and he almost feels like he _wants_ to reach in and try and touch him even if he'll get bitten. But he doesn't want to disobey orders, regardless of how friendly Ignis has been to him thus far. There's no telling where that friendliness ends and where duty and responsibility begin, and they're both still firmly pressed beneath Verstael's thumb.

The container is finally tipped over carefully, trying the sea kelp first and feeling half-excited when he thinks that the specimen might actually move from his spot. But it never does. The kelp just floats down miserably while the creature doesn't even flinch out of terror or curiosity. 

"How do you know it's not already dead?" Prompto asks quietly, giving voice to the concern that had been nagging stubbornly at him since he started his shift that evening. 

" _He_ ," Ignis corrects before shaking his head, "I don't have any reason to suspect that he isn't. He just needs more time to recover from the sedatives." 

The intonation on his pronoun use makes him wonder if Ignis isn't the one who's already attached. A reckless attribute for any scientist, and Prompto starts to worry how Ignis might feel when he has to be the one to ultimately put the specimen down. Would he be able to hold a steady hand or would his fingers shake like Prompto's had when he'd held the sea kelp moments ago?

The rest of the evening is spent with both of them idly watching the specimen, waiting with baited breath to see if he'll stir out of his slumber at all. The sea kelp is cleaned out by the filtration system while Prompto tries a few pieces of krill only to be greeted by the same results. No movement at all. He remains harboring his doubts that the specimen is still alive, but he sincerely hopes he's wrong. He'd like to meet whatever the specimen is one day, to exchange expressions with it at least, see how much it can understand, if it's more beast than man. He can tell Ignis is clamoring to do the same, but they'll just have to be patient for now. 

 

**003.**

The next few nights fall into a predictable pattern. Prompto arrives at the lab and spends the first few hours standing like a statue near the lab door. The assistants disperse, his helmet is removed. Ignis asks for him to help feed the specimen which still doesn't move aside from some restless shifting. According to Ignis, he's being kept sedated for reasons that the day crew won't dispense. Since he'd been moved to a new post, Prompto still hasn't seen the specimen actually swim around or open his eyes or untuck his face, which is a bit disappointing, but there isn't much he can do short of diving in and shaking the specimen out of his repose.

Ignis too grows restless as none of his treats seem to work at all, and the specimen's skin color fades even more while its scales grow pale and lose a bit of their sheen. They're both worried it will atrophy on its own and without Verstael's intervention, but not all creatures respond well to captivity, especially ones that had lived beneath everyone's noses for who knows how long. It's definitely disturbing to watch the slow wasting away of something so captivating, but if even someone as trained and bright as Ignis can't figure out what to do, then Prompto definitely has no chance in hell.

In the meantime, the two  of them exchange words here and there. He learns that Ignis has an uncle who survived the conquest, but he lives on his own in a government-issued apartment like Gladio. He and Gladio had met before the attack and had gone to the same school together in the old capital. He also finds out that Ignis learned to cook while trying to develop dishes to feed their specimens and tailor them to their specific dietary needs, and he had eventually expanded his skill set to trying to feed his friends and research assistants after recognizing all the hours they had to put in daily at the research facility. 

That's why it doesn't even surprise him when Ignis brings him dinner one night, a tight-lidded serving of roast beef sandwich and home-made sweet potato chips. A niggling voice pierces through him telling him not to indulge and ruin his strict diet, and he really wants to outright refuse -but at the same time, no one else has made him dinner before. At least not in this capacity. The facility had chefs, of course, but they were paid to feed them. Ignis had made this all himself without being asked and using all fresh ingredients, nothing blast-frozen and later microwaved. It makes something inside his mind twist in on itself haphazardly, the ongoing tug-and-war of his conditioning before he ultimately convinces himself that a few bites couldn't hurt. He'll spend extra time on the treadmill later. 

As expected, the sandwich tastes incredible, far outside the realm of the bitter and often tongue-numbing meals he gets in the facility. He'd long forgotten what it's like to eat something with actual flavor inside it, unable to suppress a pleased groan before taking another bite. Ignis watches him with curiosity, an eyebrow quirked as though Prompto is the specimen he's supposed to be observing instead of their aquatic friend in the tank. At least, one of them is all too happy to eat. 

Just when he thinks he's going to end up stuffing the rest of the sandwich down his throat, Ignis suddenly grabs his forearm with a tight squeeze, stopping him from moving. For a moment, Prompto thinks he must have done something wrong -maybe ate _way_ past his calorie requirement or way more than Ignis had intended to share. There's an apology already lingering on the edge of his tongue before he follows Ignis' line of sight to the tank. His head then inclines slowly to one side, still afraid to make any sudden movements while he catches what had captured Ignis' attention so readily. He doesn't expect for the specimen to be pressed up against the glass to greet them, both hands touching flat on the surface while his face watches Prompto with open curiosity. 

For a moment, Prompto forgets how to breathe, his head whirling too fast while the rest of him stands in place, meeting the specimen's pretty blue eyes and following the sharp lines of his face. So human yet so bestial at the same time. There's some scaling along his neck where two slits lie on each side, undoubtedly helping him breathe beneath the water, and his eyes are a vivid blue gradient that starts out light towards the center then gradually darkens to a grey-cobalt color in the outer rim. His pupils are more vertical and slimmer than the average humans, surrounded by feline-shaped eyes, making his expression come across as unwittingly feral even if he's just watching them.

Prompto's eyes then follow over the strands of shorn hair floating around his face to the long, pointed outer shells of his ears, one of which is adorned with some kind of metal earring -most likely a tag the scientists put on him to keep track of his location. If it weren't for the giant fish tail attached to him, he could easily pass as a human with dark enough sunglasses, a quick nail trim, and maybe a hat to hide his elvish ears. 

"What do you think provoked it?" he asks Ignis quietly, half-afraid he'll scare away the specimen if they speak loudly enough. 

Ignis makes a soft, contemplative noise at the back of his throat before replying, "My guess might be the sandwich. Strange, I wouldn't have thought the specimen to be a carnivore after it rejected the garula meat we fed it a few nights ago." 

Neither would have Prompto, but maybe the creature is hiding a whole mouth full of jagged teeth under there. How was he even able to detect the sandwich from inside the tank? That has to be one real sensitive nose he has on him, unless he'd just responded to looks alone. 

"I want you to very carefully approach the tank with the sandwich and see how he responds."

The instruction is clear enough, but the execution requires Prompto to stamp down on his anxiousness as he edges close to the glass, his eyes still trained on the specimen. To his surprise, the specimen doesn't move away even as he gets closer, but instead cocks his head to one side as though he's trying to disseminate what it is exactly that Prompto is doing. The question of intellect arises again -how much the creature must understand the moment, if it thinks more like a fish than a human. A fish would undoubtedly flinch and swim away, yet here it hovers as though it wants to trust them or as though it knows that if it behaves enough, it may get to try the sandwich.

"Now go up the stairs and slowly open to hatch above," Ignis continues to instruct.

His steps are very measured and sedate, doing his best to keep calm and not startle the specimen whose shown its first willingness to eat since it was brought in. Hopefully, it decides it doesn't want to eat the rest of his arm with the sandwich, but it's a risk he'll have to chance at the moment.

The hatch hisses open, and once again, he finds himself peering from above a small hole into the specimen's form in the water. Two slitted blue eyes stare back at him, the water's surface distorting the shape and making him look like an amorphous creature before Prompto starts to dip the sandwich inside. That's when the specimen floats up to meet the same end Prompto had bitten out of moments ago, only to mimic his actions, press his teeth into the delicious construction of bread, meat, and cheese, closing his eyes and eating ravenously. Prompto manages to spy flashes of his teeth, the brief glint of fangs before they disappear, and most of the sandwich is devoured within minutes. 

Prompto watches as it disappears into the specimens mouth then feels something soft against his fingers. It takes a moment for him to realize that they're being licked, and he quickly jerks his hand out and slams the hatch shut before rushing to separate himself from the tank. On the other side of the glass, the specimen runs his tongue along his lips like a content cat then drifts down towards the sandy bottom, his stomach slightly distended from the meal.

"Remarkable," Ignis comments as he jots down something into his note pad, "His upper GI tract seems to function more similar to a human's. I suspect he must have reached his limit in terms of hunger."

"Totally thought he'd take my hand out at that rate." 

Those words make Ignis snort quietly beneath his breath. "I was slightly worried of the same after hearing about what happened to the officers who subdued him." 

It's not hard to imagine the creature being violent after the display just now, which suggests why he was on a heavy amount of sedation earlier.

"What exactly happened?" 

"I don't know the precise details," Ignis replies, "but he used some kind of magic and killed many high-ranking MTs. The reports don't seem to corroborate well with one another. Some claim he had summoned a ring of weapons around him. Others say he had a water-wielding trident and came out of the ocean like the goddess, Leviathan. The magnetic force from whatever power he unleashed completely knocked the helmets offline, so no one was able to verify the survivors' accounts. Verstael had dispatched a special jammer to trap the creature after learning of its whereabouts." 

Prompto assumes they must still have it working on the tank, otherwise the creature wouldn't be so docile and powerless inside at the moment. It's a shame. From the sounds of it, he may be the son of Leviathan himself, but Niflheim is the same empire that brought down Shiva years ago. No god is too powerful for them, so it's that unsurprising that they would come to eventually capture the creature, though Prompto would like to see him as he is in his natural environment, swimming without restraints through the ocean's currents, untamed and proud.

The tank is properly secured once more for the night while Prompto idly watches the specimen, following its movements as he swims backwards then performs an elegant flip. He then wafts down to the sand below and flips it up with his tail a few times as though to test it. Once the sand meets whatever standards he possesses, the specimen then sinks down against it and curls himself on top of it as though he were a dog about to sleep and not anything aquatic. Prompto can't help find the scene oddly adorable while Ignis slowly powers down the lights around them, enough to give the specimen some comfort. 

"It's best we let him rest for now. I fear we may never get to see him at his full strength." 

Verstael would certainly never allow it unless they wanted to find some way to siphon power out of him and use him as a glorified battery. It wouldn't be the first time they've done so, and at least, the specimen would have a better chance of being allowed to live if that were the case. Would he ever cooperate if they knew they weren't all out to hurt him? It's not as though the creature can come right out and reason with them. Prompto hasn't even heard it make a single sound since it was brought in let alone actually try talking. The only one who would know if he could is the very scientist who's been documenting his every move since he was brought here. 

"Hey, Ignis, do you think he'd be able to speak at all?" 

The question makes the other man's brow furrow as his fingers curl around his chin. 

"Our initial x-rays and studies of his throat and mouth indicate that he might be able to make sounds similar to a humans. He has two different breathing mechanisms that work in harmony... it's most unusual. His anatomy doesn't seem to follow many biological precursors." 

Neither does Prompto's. Who'd ever heard of an overweight MT before? Lots of things about him don't make sense, but there are no limits to what nature and science can produce when left to their own imagination. The fact is, against all odds, the two of them _do_ exist and must find a way to keep surviving.

"Maybe we should try teaching him?" Prompto suggests, unsure how one would go about doing that or if the specimen would even cooperate.

Ignis seems to mirror those same concerns as his eyes glance between his notes and the slumbering fish-man a few times. With a single, punctuated nod, he concedes, "We can certainly try."

And with that, there's more than enough hope for them to succeed. Besides, they can learn way more if the specimen could communicate with them than if they just simply leave him as he is. He's already shown to them that his intelligence is closer to a human's than it is to a fish, and Prompto wants to know as much about him as he can learn while the specimen is still around. 

 

**004.**

The nights grow to be Prompto's favorite time of the day, uncaring at all of the overtime he ends up putting in -as though it would even affect his pay. His stipend is only enough for basic necessities and nothing else, and the research facility covers both his housing and meals. Outside of his work, he doesn't have much of a life anyway. Work-outs in the morning, a few trips to the convenient store down the block, idle photography around the city, then a stop by the comic book store to pick up new serials for his growing collection. The comics are definitely nothing that would fall under 'necessity,' but they _are_ necessary for his sanity. He's also been fiddling with the phone Gladio had given him once he'd deactivated all of the empire's security measures and protocols. Now, it just emits a steady signal to them as though the phone isn't being used when he's really filling it with a bunch of hand-held games to pass time during his commute. 

That evening's commute is spent buried in an elaborate RPG about the old Niflheim empire where he plays as a gunblade wielding knight who has to protect a small child with some ancient power that other nations want to possess. The grind manages to keep him absorbed until it's time for his regularly scheduled check-in and security procedures. 

A few of the senior researchers are present that day to ask him extra questions about the specimen, mostly about whether or not they have observed any movements from him the night before and if he's behaved aggressively at any point. Prompto gives them neutral answers while he steals a glance at their charts to confirm that they've been gradually reducing the amount of sedatives they've been plowing the specimen with, which is somewhat of a relief. It hadn't been fun trying to guess everyday whether or not the guy was still alive in there, not to mention how dazedly the specimen has been floating around in his tank, devoid of any characteristics that even wild animals would exhibit. 

After the minor interrogation, he's lead into the lab where Ignis is nursing what looks to be like his tenth cup of coffee that day. His eyes have rings underneath, and the shade peppered around the lids is a bruised reddish color that makes Prompto balk at him. Ignis either hasn't slept in weeks or is probably sick with something, but like most researchers in this facility, he doesn't have the freedom to take any time off, though he should really be quarantined rather than risk infecting any of the specimens.MTs aren't able to contract human diseases fortunately, so he has no qualms about approaching him once the room has cleared for the night to check on him and see what he can do. 

A single hand falls to the scientist's shoulder to get his attention, and he feels Ignis tense beneath it. 

"You okay, Ignis? I don't have to tell you why working in this wing while sick is a bad idea." 

"I know, it doesn't adhere to proper sterilization protocols," Ignis responds in a tired voice, "yet, I fear if I leave him alone long enough, the other scientists may perform some obtrusive experiments on him." 

Prompto has seen a few of them walking around with all sorts of elaborate prongs and devices, and there are enough vials of the specimen's blood in test tubes in the room that Prompto can't help feel like they're draining the guy for all he's worth. 

"Have they done anything to him, yet?" Prompto asks carefully, his gaze quickly darting to the tank to find the specimen in his usual corner, a tight ball hidden behind the large bits of coral. 

If he's injured at all, he simply can't tell from his vantage point, but he knows Ignis wouldn't lie to him about it. They've developed an unspoken trust between them since they both had begun working together to oversee the specimen's well-being. 

"Fortunately not yet, but there is talk about investigating his reproductive abilities." 

What would that even entail? It's not like they have a viable mate for him, especially when he's the only one of his kind they've found. They aren't even completely certain he's a male since he's missing a few key parts _down there_ , but Prompto wouldn't put it passed the other scientists to try and tear out every scale on his body just to see what he's hiding underneath. 

"More of him could be created -a new advanced stage for the MTs, using the blood of this creature. I thought Verstael would be interested in simple dissection, but I was naive." Ignis pauses to sniff around his runny nose and run his fingers through the wayward strands hanging down in front of his forehead. "He wants to instigate a new phase of evolution beyond what you are." 

Something more indestructible than the current MTs. A new level of danger for their enemies, especially if they share their blood with a god-like creature, but that sort of insanity is expected from his creator. Verstael had been seeking his own version of perfection for as long as Prompto could remember. He himself had been little more than just a product of that man's ill-conceived aspirations. 

"The only positive aspect remains that they will not kill the creature too soon," Ignis concludes, though his face doesn't reflect anything remotely approaching relief. 

Rather, he appears as a human who has reached his physical limits, one foot already pressed into a grave that will house him for eternity. In all their time having known each other, Prompto had never heard anything remotely resembling resignation from Ignis' voice. It feels entirely alien on the human's normally unflappable countenance and immediately unsettles him. 

"You should get some rest," Prompto urges as he steps away from Ignis to give him some room to relax, "At least curl up in one of the sleeping berths close by and take a few hours off. I can keep watch." 

Ignis opens his mouth like he wants to protest immediately but then surrenders to a simple nod. "His food is in the usual containers. Please only feed him then let him be." 

Strict words that Prompto feels bound to follow as he watches the young scientist drag himself out of the lab. It's also the first time Prompto has ever been left alone with the specimen at all, and he shuffles close to the tank to trace his gaze over the curled up shape the specimen's body makes. There's something arresting about the sight, holding his breath as he allows himself to gawk a bit more openly, follow the delicate line of the creature's spine to where the scales start to sprout just above his coccyx. The colors in his tail have grown brighter and more vivid since he started eating regularly, able to more clearly see the light aqua-stained accents where the bioluminescence emerges from when the lights are off. 

His fingers move against the glass as though he were stroking over his tail through its surfae, wondering if it would feel as soft as it looks or if the scales are like razor blades down his body. Would the specimen even have sensation there at all? 

A quick glance at his watch indicates he still has an hour left until feeding time, so he decides to lean back and play on his phone for a while, leaving the specimen undisturbed. He absently moves his fingers across the screen, tapping leisurely to attack before he notices something strange about his own reflection on his phone. There's some kind of unusual distortion to it that makes him slowly feel his way along his own cheek and temple then pat his shoulder a bit anxiously, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. 

He's just about to relax once more against the glass when a light tapping behind him makes his whole body jerk with alarm, eyes practically popping out of his head as he swallows down the cry that wants to emerge. There is only one logical source for the tapping, and he's definitely not prepared when he glances over his shoulder at the specimen pressed to the glass, watching him curiously. 

"H-hey, don't sneak up on a guy like that. Think you took a few years off my life." 

A bad joke, he knows, as his life is already destined to be very short, but that's nothing a sea-creature needs to hear about. Unsurprisingly, the specimen doesn't respond to anything, instead pointing at the phone still clutched in Prompto's fist. Prompto follows the specimen's line of sight and points at the phone as well, trying to silently ask if they both mean the same things. 

To his amazement, the specimen tries to beckon him forward to take a closer look at the phone which Prompto holds up rather awkwardly. 

"I didn't think you'd be a gamer. You're really full of surprises. Do they have these things wherever you come from?" 

If the specimen understands him at all, he makes no indication, only staring at the phone in fascination while keeping both palms pressed to the glass like two flesh-covered starfish. Prompto wishes he could tell what the specimen is thinking, only left to figure it out from his facial expressions alone, which haven't been the most animated these past few days.

"This one's pretty popular around Gralea. My party's elite already. Four five stars. 'course, I had to promote them all but totally worth the effort." 

His fingers swipe along the screen and point animatedly while the specimen remains enraptured. He then makes a motion like he wants to touch and swipe along the phone, and Prompto wonders if it won't short-circuit if he dips it into the tank. It's a shame the empire didn't shell out more funds to make these things waterproof, but the specimen can play it outside of the water. Prompto would just have to open the big hatch... which would set off all the alarms naturally. 

There must be a better way, but he'd have to undo the alarms from the tank which might be tricky. If Verstael were to find out, he'd immediately know it was either him or one of the scientists and that could get them fired or exterminated. Most likely the latter give Verstael's zero-tolerance policy on disobedience.

He flashes the specimen a regretful face before shaking his head, and the specimen frowns in return then makes the first sound he's ever heard from him. It's an echoing vibration in a single key, much like a drawn out music note that pierces through Prompto's skull and leaves his ears ringing afterwards. He can't even begin to decipher what it means, but he holds his hands up in a placating manner.

"Alright, alright. I think your hand can fit through the feeding hatch at least. Maybe I can guide you that way." 

He points to the hatch in question before climbing up the steps fast so he can open it. Peering down, he can spot the specimen's face as it comes into view, looking all the more enthralling up close. His eyes always capture him the quickest, the deep play of ocean waves around his darkened pupils, framed by thick, dark lashes that he wants to rub his thumb pads against, but he knows that would be too reckless even for him. He doesn't want to provoke the creature into violence or have him distrust him after all the efforts he and Ignis have made to get him to relax in front of them -countless feeding adventures along with doing their best to make his tank as welcoming as possible.

The specimen's hand slowly rises from the feeding hatch, reaching out towards him, and Prompto does indulge in stroking over his fingers at least, satisfying some of his curiosity as he feels over skin so soft that it may as well be a jellyfish's membrane. It's almost that same pale shade of blue-ish white, indicative of how little light must reach wherever the specimen lives down below, and his touch is beyond frigid, not a single trace of heat in his body. Even so, Prompto can feel something close to warmth radiating from the contact, his own blood seemingly rushing to his palm and fingertips, leaving his hand throbbing pleasantly as Prompto guides the specimen to his phone.

He can see the specimen trying to peek up through the small hole to see the phone as Prompto teaches him how to move his fingers along the screen and swipe the characters forward to get them to attack. They play like this together for several minutes while the rest of Prompto's arm ignites slowly from the contact as the specimen continues to make sounds like elongated music notes that fill the otherwise too-quiet lab. He only stops when both their  limbs start to cramp up from the awkward positioning, and they're forced to part ways once more.

After his daily feeding, Prompto settles down on the ground with his back against the glass, continuing to play and let the specimen watch over his shoulder until the specimen starts to doze off, presumably to digest all those calories he'd just devoured. His eyes peek back to watch him curl up slowly along the sand, his head lying gently over his crossed arms, looking more at ease than Prompto's ever seen him. There is a tiny, serene smile pulling at the specimen's mouth, one that Prompto can't help but snapping a picture of with his phone for later viewing. It's a memory he wants to hold onto, one he's not sure he'll be able to keep for very long if they ever review what's on his phone. 

It's that sobering though that makes him feel like his chest cavity is slowly being wedged apart, one painful twist at a time. There's no telling how long he can remain on edge like this, awaiting the inevitable, but he tries to convince himself that it's stupid to get attached. That S-0234 is facility property and not human, nothing worth assigning any sympathy towards, yet the feeling can't be quelled. Whether animal, god, or anything else, Prompto doesn't like seeing him hurt or upset.

And against his better judgment, he's compelled to give the creature a name and remove any anonymity from it. He can't go on calling him 'the specimen' during their last days together, so he strives to think of something that reflects his nature.

"Aqua? No, too obvious...," he murmurs to himself, "Fishy? Bubbles? Mr. Bubblesworth!" 

Okay, if the creature could understand him, he'd probably splash salt water in his eyes for even suggesting that. He should try and give him something cool yet memorable. 

"Scaley? Blue? Night? Nocturnal -oh hey! What about Noct?" 

As though the creature even has room to protest at the moment. It doesn't even move from its spot at all, remaining unaware at the bottom of his tank. Perhaps 'Sleepy' would be a better name, but he likes the sound of Noct. It's very simple and punctuated, rolling off the tongue rather nicely.

"Just between me and you, your name is Noct now. Noct, the Almighty Aquatic Fishy Gamer God." 

He chuckles to himself before dimming the room lights a bit more to let Noct sleep better in his tank. The bioluminescent highlights on his scales glow in their eerie beauty like candle flames floating in the darkness, and Prompto keeps his eyes fixated on them as he  tries to steal another photo in the dark. He'll have to get a good camera with lighting and filters for nighttime if he really wants to capture his image in all its allure and mystique, but he's not sure if he'll be able to sneak one passed security. Maybe Ignis can pull some strings to get him to use one of their high-tech facility-issued research cameras, and he can upload the images to his phone to carry them out with him from the facility, have a private keepsake that the empire can't take away from him.

It's his only option at this point because Noct belongs to them, no matter how many numbers in their IDs they share. That's his current reality. 

 

**005.**

Ignis takes a few days to recover fully, still looking a bit haggard as he tries to go through his daily recordings. A mask now adorns the lower half of his face to avoid infection, though he's still wary about approaching the tank for fear of being contagious to Noct. Prompto keeps the private name solely inside his head, though a few times, the word threatens to sneak passed his lips when it's feeding time and he's trying to summon Noct out from his hiding spot. Thankfully, Noct has become a lot more animated, often swimming in circles around his tank or performing flips for them then trying to groom himself when he gets too restless.

Prompto often wonders if they shouldn't put more things inside to keep him entertained -maybe other fish or underwater flowers. Even a treasure chest or sunken ship replica so he has more spots to curl up inside or against other than some generic coral. Unfortunately, Ignis has rejected all his suggestions out of fear of any kind of contamination, especially as far as introducing other life forms goes. There's no telling how Noct will react or if he won't try and eat the fish. He wants to point out how much their aquatic friend seems to like his cell phone games, but he has a feeling Ignis will more than likely dismiss the thought of giving Noct an underwater cell phone as well. That means all they can do to entertain him is feed him and try and teach him to sign. 

It's a language that Prompto learns alongside Noct as he's never had any reason to use it up until now, though where he is eager and trying his best to remember it all, Noct is lazy or disinterested. The only sign he manages to learn from Ignis is the word for 'meat', which includes grabbing the flesh webbing of his left hand with his right thumb and index finger, then wiggling his right hand. That's how they know when he's hungry, though Ignis refuses to give up on him, muttering gently under his breath each time, "You're smart enough to know what this is. You're simply not trying." 

-only for the creature to grow exasperated and hide behind his coral as usual. 

"Maybe we should start motivating him with food? Kind of like dog treats." 

Ignis sighs softly before shaking his head. "We have to follow the schedule for his meals. I don't want him to grow too lean once more." 

He'd just begun putting back all the weight he'd lost during the first days of his arrival, though Prompto wonders how much exercise he can get in that small tank.

"How much distance do you think he's used to swimming?"

Ignis taps a finger to his chin as he tries to discern an answer before nodding to himself. "A creature analogous to his size can swim up to 2800 miles a day, so I have no doubts he's capable of the same." 

Then that tank really is too small for him, and he can see why Noct is growing restless in there and constantly flipping around or kicking up sand with his tail. Sometimes, he catches Noct lazily drawing something on the sand with his finger that looks like almost like a diamond but with more complex ridges around it, and there's a circle in the middle with a few ornate geometric patterns. He'd taken a picture of it but hadn't been able to do much research at all between his work hours. He might have to forego sleep for a bit to hit up the library at some point. 

For now, he tries to focus on simply getting Noct to talk to them when he seems more content to swim in circles and tap at the tiny feeding hatch on the top, a motion that Ignis ignores as he picks up his clipboard. 

"As he eats more, he's been shedding the dead scales from his body, molting if you will." 

Prompto hopes that's a good thing as he fixes the young scientist with an inquisitive expression. 

"We should try and take some samples if he's not going to cooperate with his lessons today." 

It's the first time Ignis has motioned to the larger hatch on top, the one that's protected with an alarm. A few key presses from Ignis disables it in an instance, and he watches the light near it turn green before Ignis directs him up the stairs with a pair of tweezers. 

"I would need some from his tail, some from his arms, and some from his neck." 

"Wait, hold on, you really want me to-?" 

Prompto's eyes are already half way popped out of his skull, unsure if he's supposed to get in or what. He's never done this sort of thing before, though it's obvious why Ignis is making him do it instead of himself. The virus is still affecting him, so it would be hazardous to come in that close contact with Noct.

"You don't have to climb inside. He'll come up on his own, though getting some from his tail may prove a bit challenging." 

Hopefully, he'll cooperate with that much, but Prompto still can't quell his nervousness. What if Noct escapes? The two of them would be exterminated for sure, but it's not like he wants to take any weapons up there with him and scare him off. Would Noct even know that they're weapons at all? He's probably only seen a handful used on him, and there's no telling what the day crew might have done to him already. He's spotted lacerations on his arms and torso before and all sorts of bruises and marks, but they always heal rather quickly and leave his skin flawless to be poked and prodded anew. 

His own legs shake as he pushes himself up on top of the tank and undoes the latch on the giant hatch. It opens with a punctuated hiss before he glances down to find Noct's form, watching it uncoil fast and dart up to meet him. Within seconds, half of Noct's body is sticking out of the water, leaving his hair streaming across his face and covering his eyes completely. The creature quickly pushes away the strands with a stubborn shake of his head to stare at Prompto, and it's definitely the closest they've ever been to one another. No glass or barriers between but simple, untamed airspace, and though he'd expected Noct to smell completely like salt and ocean mist, he also smells like something overpowering and fragrant, a scent he could never be able to describe. Yet it's all he can inhale, sweet, utterly intoxicating, beckoning him in to move closer, press his nose to his hair and flesh like it's all he needs to live on.

Only the tiniest sliver of discipline stalls him, and he tries to focus on the task at hand while reaching out to tip Noct's head back so he can see the scales on his neck. The prismatic patch on his face stretches close to his ear and a few faint ones dot the edges of his cheeks, so easily missed in how clear the color and texture are, but Prompto's rooted in his fascination, fighting off every instinct to keep feeling over along his body, satisfy his awakening curiosity. 

Noct holds still the entire time, head craned back to let Prompto carefully remove some of the scales already barely clinging to his skin and putting them in a petri dish for Ignis to collect. The next target is his arm to which Prompto points before Noct raises it from the water obediently. He can't help feel scrutinized as he plucks very gently at his scales, looking for one that's really loose to peel away, though he notices one of the aforementioned abrasions lining the skin of his forearm. If looks like someone had taken a blade and shaved off a layer of it, and he can't help but brush his thumb along the line, wanting to soothe an ache that might no longer even be there.

There's something apologetic in his own expression, hating that Noct has to be kept like this just because he had the gall of not being born human, and he wishes they could do more for him than just showing him phone games and giving him his favorite foods. 

"You must hate us all pretty badly right now, huh?" he murmurs, "Don't worry, buddy, I'm not going to hurt you."  

Noct's eyes meet his own before he suddenly grabs the back of Prompto's neck and drags him forward. All Prompto can feel is the sudden spread of cool skin against his forehead, a touch that should be slimy but instead is a cool compress against his over-heated skin. He doesn't know what's happening, but he allows it as he stamps down on his own reflex to lurch away. Instinct tells him not to be afraid and to be lured in by the inviting touch, eyes drawing shut, his whole body enveloped as he's suddenly assaulted with image after image.

At first, there is a crystal-encrusted tower surrounded by underwater vines and a large bubble around it. Then there is an older sea creature like Noct, long flowing hair around his head and a beard that floats around his stern face. Then, Prompto sees real bright orange-red coral after, large enough to pass for underwater skyscrapers, and there are schools of other colorful sea creatures swimming through and around them. Last, he watches the surface of the water from beneath the sea, the faint outline of the sun as it dances with the moving current and one single hand reaching out to try and touch it.

His eyes widen as he tries to take it all in, his heart left a pounding mess in his chest as he tries to suck down oxygen too fast, and Noct stares at him curiously before he leans forward, lips parted, searching blindly for Prompto's except Prompto pulls away before he can kiss him, too disoriented by the visual overload to remember what he's doing and why. All of his synapses are firing off on disarrayed impulses, and he wants to run fast and far now as he scrambles backwards, nearly slips off the edge tank in his rush. 

Ignis grabs him before he can, arms gripping him firmly before he asks, "Are you all right? What did he do to you?" 

"Don't know," Prompto answers honestly.

His mind had simply drifted away from him as though it had been forcefully yanked out of his skull and carelessly thrown elsewhere. He isn't even sure what he'd seen, only that he can't forget it, the imprints pasted thickly into the back of his eyelids, and for all his trouble-making, Noct manages to look worried before he slinks down into the water without a word. 

"Sorry, I couldn't get the ones off his tail for you." 

"This should be enough," Ignis assures him, not wanting to make him further uncomfortable. 

The hatch is shut tight and locked once more as Ignis assists him off the tank along with the samples. A sharp ache is already blossoming between Prompto's temples that he tries to ignore as he dries himself on a towel, and he's afraid to glance at Noct for what expression he may see there. Would he hate him for rejecting him? Would he feel bad at all? Would he be afraid to let him touch him again? Does Prompto himself even want to try and touch him? It's hard to separate fear from fascination when he doesn't even know what Noct's intentions are. He wants to believe they're amicable, but there's a part of him that insists that Noct is still a wild animal, one that operates purely on survival instinct no matter how many signs he learns or doesn't learn. Maybe he feels nothing for him at all, neither camaraderie or contempt. Is that the best he can hope for? 

Though, Prompto thinks he would rather be hated than evoke no feelings at all because at least there would be passion behind it. 

"I think he rather likes you," Ignis reassures him as though he'd been reading his thoughts, "he's only ever allowed me to take samples off of him, and even then, he hadn't been that pleased about it." 

"You think? How can you even tell?"

Ignis' lips quirk up at the corner in sudden bemusement as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Aside from trying to kiss you moments ago, he seems ...calmer when you're around. Slightly more obedient." 

That sounds promising, though Prompto can hardly believe it himself. He's not exactly a person who inspires that kind of gentle reaction out of anyone. Usually, he inspires reprimands or exasperation, perhaps the occasional acknowledgement. 

"Might be all the perfume you guys are squirting into the water. Think that's part of the sedative effect?" 

Those words give Ignis pause as the young scientist studies him curiously. "What do you mean by perfume?" 

"His smell," Prompto clarifies then taps his own nose for emphasis, "Don't tell me you're so stuffed up you can't smell it."

"Hardly," Ignis replies with sudden indignation before grabbing a notepad and pencil. "How would you describe the smell?" 

Like diving head first into a sea of flowers and vanilla spice or something even more intense than that. But all he can think up is: 

"Sweet. _Really_ sweet." 

Ignis' pencil scratches fast against the papers as he murmurs the word 'interesting' under his breath. Prompto isn't sure what sort of theory he's cooking up in his mind except that he also thinks it's weird Noct doesn't smell like a fish at all. It really might just be a peculiar side-effect of all the drugs they'd given him, but he's not complaining if it means he doesn't have to deal with a pungent odor every time he goes to feed him. 

When Ignis is done jotting things down his notes, they both dim the lights for the rest of the evening, letting Noct float down to the bottom of his tank to rest. Prompto traces his eyes over his tail again and again, mesmerized by the elegant silhouette of it and trying to decipher what those images meant. In one of them, that older creature had such warmth in his eyes. Probably someone Noct knows -a relative of some sort? At least, that could mean that Noct isn't alone out there. But it also means he might have a family frantically looking for him and wanting him to come home. Will he ever see them again? Probably not, but what if he was trying to ask Prompto to find them. The other images he'd been show looked like undersea locations, ones he could never recognize. The sea is too large for any one man or MT to traverse alone. He could spend his whole life exploring the bottom of the ocean and only cover a fraction of it.

If he has any means of finding them, he'd have to get Noct himself to guide him there, and even then, what hope does Prompto have in freeing him from the facility? Not to mention he'd put both his job and Ignis' in jeopardy if he does. It's a bad train of thought to entertain, but he can't swallow down the overwhelming guilt that they're keeping Noct here when they shouldn't be. He doesn't want him to spend the rest of his life so far from his family and his home, both things Prompto has never had nor could he fathom losing. Yet in that moment, he almost understood Noct's longing as though it were his own. 

 _'Sorry, Noct, I don't know what to do,'_ he almost wants to whisper back, feeling absolutely helpless. He wishes there was more he could do, but he's just as much of a prisoner as Noct at the moment. 

 

**006.**

The next evening, there's a sudden outburst of commotion from the labs as several high-level researchers ban him from going inside, telling him that the area isn't clear yet. He can hear a strange prolonged moan in the background, the shrill noise making all the hair on his body stand straight as he struggles to make out what's going on. A few assistants rush passed him, one of them carrying what looks to be a stun gun while Verstael shouts at them to move quicker. The tell-tale buzz of it going off doesn't quell Prompto's nerves one bit, his pulse jumping to its limit as he forces his body to remain in place. Not to go rushing in there. He can't do anything if he goes rushing in. He'll only be disciplined the same way.

If anything, he has to remain patient, force himself to breathe slowly as he closes his eyes and concentrates on the sound. Again, that low, long flat note embeds itself into his ear, rising carefully in decibels before it fades fast, and Prompto has to wonder if Noct hasn't been knocked out by then. He's almost afraid to find out, wondering what Noct even did to cause the reaction. His heart continues to slam erratically up against his rib cage as sweat cakes along the spaces between his fingers until the researchers finally exclaim that "the specimen is out."

There appears to be a collective sigh of relief, and that's when Prompto is jostled inside while Verstael shoves a syringe into Prompto's hand.

"Don't stand there gaping. Dispose of it." 

"Yes, sir," Prompto says automatically, though his eyes can't help but find the prone body lying on a gurney, several tight belts keeping it bound. 

Noct's face looks sallow and haggard, loose hair licking his forehead and cheeks as his gills flare with his attempts to breathe outside of water. His tail also twitches tiredly before it stills, hanging off the end of the gurney where several shed scales have fallen. Whatever they did, it hadn't been too gentle at all, and he can see the bare color from his flesh look even more drained than before, as though he's more corpse than living. 

Verstael takes the time to wipe his face after as he all but spits in Noct's direction. "If he continues to be this disorderly, I'll mark him for dissection. We can't get anything done if his aggression can't be managed." 

What they were trying to do to him remains an unknown as Prompto studies the rest of Noct's body, finding all sorts of strange incisions around his lower abdomen and the area where his skin transforms to scales. His vital organs are probably tucked in there, and they were just stabbing into him without any kind of anesthetics, weren't they? 

The thought alone leaves his stomach curdling roughly, a rippling sensation that forces all the bile to climb upwards, and he bites the inside of his cheek just to distract himself from the nauseousness. He doesn't want to lose his dinner right here, especially not with Verstael standing just a few feet away. Fortunately, the mask veils his expression, keeping him shadowed and out of view as he's instructed to help with the clean up. There are drops blood all over the ground, and the sweet scent he picked up from Noct the other day seems all but vanished, replaced with nothing but the acrid, copper-crisp smell of blood in the air. 

Ignis looks just as troubled when he finds his familiar features in the sea of white lab coats. The young scientist is hastily organizing tubes and labeling them then storing them in a small refrigerator for preservation. On one of them, he manages to read the label 'internal tissue' and thinks the worst. They must have been trying to already take him apart, see how much further they could dig below the surface, nothing to stand in the way of science and discovery. 

"Put him back in the tank," is the last order Verstael gives before he steps out, only pausing to toss his blood-stained gloves in the trash with open contempt.

The assistants rush to carry Noct up the steps and dump him unceremoniously into the tank as though he were nothing but a trash bag being chucked into a dumpster, and Noct sinks precariously to the bottom just as lifeless. Prompto isn't even aware how hard his hands are curled until his nails start to pinch into his skin, leaving deep indents until the researchers close up shop for the evening. 

The sudden silence doesn't feel as companionable to him as it does on other nights, reminding him too well of all the chaos he'd stepped into moments ago. He isn't even sure what to say as he gnaws on his bottom lip and hovers near the tank before he rips his helmet off without permission. Then his hand pushes against the cool glass, wishing Noct would swim up to him and press his hand back, do anything else but lie on the sand all battered like that. 

"What did they do to him?" he manages to get out to Ignis, his eyes refusing to leave Noct's form.

"They were searching for reproductive organs. As you can see, he had some objections to that." 

Prompto doesn't blame him at all. If someone came that close to his balls with a knife, he'd also flip out on them. He can barely contain his own upset, feeling it ready to burst right out of him as he shakes his head furiously.

"He doesn't deserve that." 

Not being captured, not being sliced up, starved, kept in a tank too small for him. What are they even hoping to get out of him with that kind of research? He doubts it's anything close to mundane curiosity, knowing Verstael, and the possibilities all make him want to retch in disgust. 

A fist pounds hard against the glass before Prompto rests his forehead against it, feeling his frustrations mount too far for him to control. He's never hated his creator more for wanting to make play things out of every creature he comes across, all for some abstract dream of his. What if Verstael dies before he even fulfills it? What would happen to all of this? Who would even be sick enough to carry on this kind of research? 

Ignis' hand slowly comes to rest on his back, warm and solid as the weight melts into him, and Prompto does his best to try and calm down. Getting angry and cursing the guy out isn't going to help at all, and he knows it goes against all his conditioning. But he feels he's past the point where he can go on pretending everything doesn't affect him somehow. The dream of a lifeless, obedient race of superior humans only exists somewhere in Verstael's head. The reality is that he knows he's not 'normal.' He knows there is something fundamentally wrong with him. There's nothing elevated about him. 

And he hasn't figured out whether or not he should hate or indulge that part of himself. All he knows is that he can't go on sealing it behind a steel mask, especially when he stands to lose someone he cares about -against all reason and logic. Noct is a creature, he knows, he's an animal, he knows, a beast, _a monster_. But he's also a friend. Someone he named himself, someone he's taken care of, someone who wasn't afraid to touch him or get close, who didn't shy away and whisper or gawk and point at him. 

"We've got to get him out of here." 

He doesn't know how, but there has to be something they can do for him. What's to stop them from going any further? As far as their concerned, Noct isn't really all that valuable alive. If he was, they'd bother keeping him in better conditions and do their best not to bleed him dry.

"I understand how you feel," Ignis responds before shaking his head gently, "but my hands are tied. There is no way to get him out of the facility with this much security and surveillance." 

The cameras are the first big obstacle, but they can be taken offline. Prompto knows where the main power breaker is and has access to it, courtesy of his bar code. First time it's ever come in handy. 

Taking out the other MTs, however, is a whole other beast. They don't have enough man power which means they'll have to be discreet when transporting their aquatic friend.

"We have ten minutes between taking out the power and the back up power coming on," he murmurs, ignoring Ignis entirely, "Think that's enough to lug him to one of the transport vehicles?" 

"Ye- well, you're not seriously considering this, are you?" 

Ignis' pinched expression gives every indication that he wants no part in it, but he'd already implicated himself from the moment he started ignoring all protocol and treating the specimen as everything but a specimen. He knows deep down that Ignis wants to save him too but is bound too tight to his own duty and years of conditioning, but there is a way out for the both of them. Prompto has to believe that, otherwise they'll be sentencing another innocent creature to its death. 

"You know who has access to the vehicles."

It's more of an accusation than a question, and he watches Ignis' usually unflappable demeanor falter as the older man weighs his choices in his head. He can practically read the mental back and forth he's having with himself before he finally relents with a heaved out a sigh. 

"Gladio can drive them, but that means convincing him to aid us." 

Which will most likely be difficult. Gladio's no lightweight when it comes to sympathy and won't threaten his position or his sister's livelihood here. It's because of her that the empire has such an ironclad grip on Gladio's loyalty, and Prompto doesn't want to be the one who has to ask him. 

His expression transforms from determined to pleading as he stares up at Ignis. "Come on, you know the most about what'll happen to him if he stays. We can't just leave him here. If Gladio can get him out and help us, we got to do it." 

There's still some uncertainty scrawled across Ignis' features, and his nod is reluctant when he agrees. 

"I'll see what I can do, but until then, don't do anything reckless. If we attract their suspicion, then this whole plan will not work at all." 

"You got it. Not a peep from me." 

Who would he even tell? The number of people he willingly talks to on a daily basis is essentially two, and those two are his future accomplices. However, it's probably better if they don't discuss this here, still unsure what can or can't be heard. The walls maybe be thick and soundproof, but he wouldn't put it past Verstael to bug every inch of this place. If that's the case, maybe they're already in trouble, but that's a chance he's going to have to take. He won't let them hurt  Noct any further. It's a silent vow he won't break before he settles on watching Noct for the night in his still slumber, curled up on his side while the wounds are already beginning to stitch themselves back together. 

 

**007.**

They gather outside the research facility for an early meeting in one of Gralea's public gardens. Because of all the towering columns of smog and industrial waste in the air, few plants can grow safely inside the city so the government created dome-covered gardens that serve as technological greenhouses which simulate the effects of a natural forest quite well. The Solheim Botanical Garden is the largest of them all, a sprawling 350 acres of ancient and exotic plants preserved from the fallen civilization. 

Prompto seats himself in one of its few rest areas, surrounded by wisteria trees whose flowers have been cross-bred so that they look like hanging flames from the branches, a tribute to the astral, Ifrit. It's a difficult landmark to miss, and it's usually empty of visitors in the early hours. Only a few pass by to glance curiously at the trees before moving on to the more ostentatious flowers on the east side of the gardens. 

It's secluded enough that Prompto feels comfortable going over some of the finer points of the plan with Ignis who has already mapped out the quickest path to the main breaker and Gladio who regards them both with open skepticism. 

"Let me get this straight," Gladio grouses, "you want me to drive a government-issued vehicle to the facility and steal one of their specimens." 

Spoken with all the enthusiasm of a man who'd rather be ordered to do anything else at the moment. Prompto doesn't blame him, given what they're asking of him. He'd have to put his own position in jeopardy as well as that of his sister's. If there were any other way, Prompto wouldn't have brought him into this at all. 

"You are in charge of moving the MT embryos to the incubation facility once a week, are you not?" Ignis points out. "We would simply be loading on a second refrigeration unit with the embryos -this one carrying the specimen." 

" _Noct_ ," Prompto suddenly intones, unable to help intruding in on the conversation, "If we're going to risk our necks to save him, then we treat him like the rest of us." 

Ignis and Gladio both fix him with mystified expressions, but it's Gladio who bothers voicing first what they're both thinking- "You _named_ him?" 

Prompto can't help the sudden heat curling under the flesh around his cheeks and forehead, and his gaze falls fast to the ground as he mutters, "Well, yeah. Can't go on calling him 'the specimen' forever."

They both don't look at all convinced of the explanation, but Prompto doens't want to derail the planning with any deeper philosophical reasoning behind naming their aquatic friend. 

Ignis fortunately spares him by continuing, "As I was saying, _Noct_ would be in the refrigeration chest beneath the embryos, and you would only be making a stop at Prompto's apartment complex to drop him off in the back, so Prompto can hide him safely there. The difficulty is shutting off the power grid so we can get him out of the tank and out of the lab without raising suspicion." 

Just because they know where the power grid is doesn't mean either of them can get to it. It's surrounded by more surveillance MTs, which means they're at an impasse with this plan unless they can figure out a way to somehow move passed them undetected. 

"I think I know a way," Gladio suddenly pipes up, "the ventilation system connects to the loading dock. If Prompto disguises himself as one of the MTs doing the delivery run with me, he can climb through and reach the main power breaker to shut it off. That's when Ignis has ten minutes to move the body out of the tank and into the refrigeration chest." 

A risky maneuver, but luckily, no one can tell one MT from the other. Only their barcodes ever give them away. 

"I can use a few synthetic skin grafts to give Prompto a new barcode and get him into the system," Ignis adds, "It should give him clearance. Since the delivery is during the day shift, they'd think he was a separate MT." 

"You up to the task?" Gladio suddenly asks him, leaving him victim to the full intensity of his gaze.

Even if he had his doubts, he'd know they'd clear up the moment he were to see Noct in his glass prison again. That's no way for any creature to live, and who knows how long he's going to survive like that? It's bad enough Prompto couldn't lift a finger to save any other of the creatures dragged in and experimented on, and this is the first chance he has to really do something. 

With a single, resolute nod, he tells Gladio, "If anything goes wrong, you can abandon us. I know you have your sis to think about." 

Gladio's the one who stands to lose the most out of all of them. His sister has been his only impetus for even granting his loyalty to Niflheim. It's either he serves the emperor or Iris gets killed, and in spite of all that's wrong with Niflheim's administration, there are innocent civilians in the empire, those simply trying to live day to day with little military interference. 

"I'll deal with it if things come to that," Gladio tells them, looking unfettered by the possibility. 

Prompto wishes he was that self-assured at the moment. He's got the biggest role to play in all of this, and he isn't sure he can carry it out with getting caught. There are so many things that could go wrong, so many possible missteps, and he doesn't have the luxury to fail. However, not trying is already a failure in itself. 

"So when's the soonest we can do this?" he hazards to ask.

Ignis brings up a holograph of the facility schedule for the week before circling one day with his finger. "This is when the next embryo shipment is due. We'll have two days until then." 

That's two more days of leaving Noct inside the tank, and he seriously hopes nothing major happens to him in the meantime. They can't do much more than bide their time carefully, which becomes increasingly difficult when Prompto has to return to the facility that evening. There's already a surge in MT security as Verstael lurks around the premises checking on some of their other specimens. Among the latest captives is a shrieking insect-lion hybrid that lashes out vehemently at the MTs forced to drag it in. Something purple and acid-like drips from its maw, leaking onto the floor and eating away at the surface of it while Verstael huffs distastefully. 

"Don't let it damage the facility! Cover its mouth!"

Prompto wisely sidesteps their advance and beelines straight into his assigned lab where the calming blue lights of the tank welcome him like a warm embrace. He watches the rings on the walls, reflections of the water where Noct floats around idly, seemingly listless. His expression is blanker than usual as though he's starting to come to terms with the inevitability of his fate, and he sometimes swims upwards to poke at the top surface of the water, continuously distorting with his finger.

If only he could assuage him, but even if he were to explain their plan to him, Noct would never understand. Hopefully, once he's out of there, Noct will likely show some more vivaciousness again, but there's no guarantee. The experience may have already altered him for the rest of his life, no matter how long or short. 

All Prompto can do for him at the moment is to try and brighten his spirits as he removes his helmet to keep Noct calm and disarm him while he approaches the large tank. The creature immediately swims down to greet him, one hand pressing to the surface of the glass while his eyes crinkle at the edges. Noct then brings up his right hand to his temple and near his right ear, fingers all pressed together with his thumb crossed slightly in front of his palm before extending it outward from his body in a saluting gesture. The sign makes Prompto crack into a grin before he does the same in return. It must have taken them at least a week to teach him that, but Prompto has a feeling Noct actually learned it within an hour and was just being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. 

Noct's hand lowers before he gives him the sign for meat, his other usual greeting that elicits a small chuckle from Prompto's mouth.

"I'm going, I'm going. You're so needy lately." 

A jest as Noct only ever really asks to be fed, probably because that's all he _can_ ask for. Just as Prompto starts to climb the stairs with a container of fresh grilled cockatrice breast, he hears the lab doors hiss open. Careless footsteps following after, the kind that make him and Ignis tense up fast and snap their heads towards the entrance.

Standing there and glaring through narrowed eyes is Verstael, his shoulders hunched as he watches them with undisguised contempt. 

"What are you doing with your helmet off?" he immediately barks out, and Prompto doesn't have an answer for that, mouth left agape as he struggles to say anything.

Fortunately, Ignis swoops in fast to his rescue, coming out from behind the stacks of paperwork and fixing his glasses on his face. "I allowed it as per feeding regulations to avoid any water damage to the equipment or unnecessary electrocutions." 

Smooth as always while Prompto is still grasping at a proper greeting to his creator. 

"You worry too much about the MTs." 

The old man sniffs gruffly before meandering close to the tank, watching as Noct retreats and doesn't swim up to grab his food as usual. There's open hatred between the two, Verstael doing nothing to hide his disgust as Noct's lips pull back around his teeth to bare his feline-like fangs. And Prompto can't bring himself to breathe through all the tension suffocating him, wary of who will try and strike first, who would play the hunter and who would play the prey in their mental cat-and-mouse game. 

"The cradle of civilization lies behind these glass walls," Verstael continues as Prompto starts his slow descent along the portable stairs, "I have yearned to find one of these for so long. A true Lucian." 

Those words make Prompto's brain come to a screeching halt as he aims to make himself even more invisible in the lab, grabing his helmet and slinking safely to his post. His eyes only sweep around the room to find Ignis who looks equally perplexed. Are he and Gladio not Lucians then? What does that even mean? 

"You knew they were out there?" Ignis questions the chief carefully. 

Verstael doesn't even bother facing him, instead keeping his focus solely on Noct who keeps shrouded behind the coral, fearing what abuse might await him.

"A mere hunch that proved correct. Archaeological records spoke of the first kings who came from the sea, the children of both Bahamut and Leviathan... bequeathed with great power. Yet over time, some grew to favor land and were weakened as they strayed from their gods. Those that stayed in the sea, hid their powers away for centuries." 

But why? Unless those that lost their powers came to scorn those of the sea or were overcome with jealousy? Or maybe the original Lucians just grew not to distrust those who turned away from their gods. Their must be so much lost history hidden at the bottom of the ocean, all the ruins left unexplored. His mind trails back to the crystal towers he roamed through in the visions Noct showed him. There was something beautiful and deliberate about their construction that made him think it was an important landmark of sort, constructed by Noct's kind or by the Astrals themselves and not just a random geological formation. 

If only Noct could have shown him more, but he was too freaked out at the time to let him. He still wonders what Noct must have been trying to tell him that day. 

"That would explain some things," Ignis murmurs softly before showing Verstael a print-out. Prompto remembers that being the crest Noct had drawn repeatedly the first few days after he'd been brought to the facility. 

"Ah yes," Verstael whispers before letting his fingers move along the different circles and patterns, "the crest." 

He doesn't elaborate on what kind of crest it is, but Prompto has a feeling it's tied to the old kingdom where Noct must be from. Perhaps, a family emblem of some sort? Regardless, Verstael's expression lights up with overt interest before he steps even closer and strokes the outline of curled up mound of Noct's form. The singular motion twists his stomach round and round itself as he swallows thick saliva down and tries to keep his reactions neutral. No need to blow his cover. Noct will be out of his hand's soon and away from the facility, a reckless thought he clings to with all the force of a desperate child. 

Ignis must sense his discomfort because he suddenly interrupts Verstael and holds out a few test tubes. "The samples you requested, Chief." 

The old man makes a guttural sound of acknowledgment in the back of his throat before grabbing onto the tube. The blue lights from the tank turn the  blood inside into vibrate shades of magenta and red-purple as it swirls around, and Verstael all but presses the vials to his lips to inhale them.

"Soon we will find the missing key and become the Astrals' chosen once more. We embark on the dawn of a new age, Ignis."

They only have to trample on every other civilization to get there. It's not any age Prompto wants to live in, a fact all too mirrored in Ignis' pinched expression which doesn't fade long after Verstael has left the lab. Noct doesn't move from his prone position, his hair curling in the water like a dark blue sea anemone between the brightly colored twisting stalks of coral. It's where he feels the safest, a tiny den that will have to suffice for two more days. Then after that, well, his apartment isn't any better, but it's only until they figure out how to get him out of the capital in one piece. Then he can go home, though Prompto would be lying if he said he wouldn't miss him. He's never had the chance to get close to anything before, be it human or undersea creature. In spite of his and Gladio's tenuous friendship, there was always a wedge between Gladio's Lucian blood and Prompto's Niflheim blood. 

But Noct doesn't have those prejudices and had never looked at him with anything but curiosity and amusement. He doesn't know if he can ever expect the same from humans, knowing what he is and what they are. They'll always assume he's just a product of Verstael's madness and nothing more, but doing something like this... maybe he might be able to prove he's no different than Gladio or Ignis. That he can care for others, operate on his own volition, feel love and pain just as acutely as any human. There's no way he's just an obedient tool of the empire. _That's not how he wants to spend the rest of his life._

 

**008.**

Prompto wakes up early the day of the break-in, having barely been able to sleep at all. His mind had been replaying every single nuance of the plan, trying to visualize the route in his head. Being as slim as he is, he shouldn't have trouble infiltrating the ducts from the loading dock and making his way to the main breaker, but he has to be sure he won't trigger any alarms on the way. Ignis had assured him there shouldn't be any along the route he outlined for him, so the danger is minimal, but his confidence isn't entirely solid on the matter as he thinks about what else can go wrong -if Verstael makes an unplanned visit to the lab; if someone catches him when he drops out of the duct and fiddles with the building's power; if there are any other cameras they weren't aware of, hidden microscopic ones already following their every move. 

The whole scenario fills him with an overpowering unease that clings to him long after Gladio arrives to pick him up. There's a uniform in his hand, one of the spare ones issued to lower level MTs which doesn't have any armor or compartments to put weapons. The name tag reads the false number Ignis issued for him which matches the synthetic skin graft he glued to his own skin earlier and blended in with make-up. As far as anyone is aware, he's MT - 05966552, a grunt worker only responsible for transportation and logistics under the supervision of Captain Amicitia. 

He rehearses the number again and again beneath his breath as he slides in next to Gladio, using it as a mantra to calm down his vibrating nerves. He can feel his stomach already coiling around the rest of his organs, making an irritated sound from his torso that he tries to forcibly quell by placing his palm against it. His breakfast smoothie isn't doing so great either, and he just wants for it all to be over already. There are so many steps they have to go through just to get access to the facility without raising any eyebrows, and Prompto is worried he might have one freckle too many or his irises are too violet, anything unusual that might tip them off. The last thing he needs is to inspire even a sliver of suspicion from the security team.

A loud breath flees from his lips as his fingers turn white against the arm rest, and he absently glances at Gladio from his peripheral, wondering how he could be so calm and cool at a time like this. Eyes set forward, face unreadable. There's not a trace of hesitation there even if the risk is just as great -if not, greater- for him. 

But he heard from other staff around the facility that Gladio has already seen quite a bit of combat even at the age of twenty-three. Quelling rebels and uprisings, there's a reason he's got a top security position for someone as young as he is. The guy is an unbreakable wall when it comes to danger and had even protected the Tenebraen prince, Ravus, from other Lucians at the risk of being called a traitor. He'd endured all that hatred just so his sister could live free here and remain safe. Prompto isn't sure if he admires or pities him more, but he does know that he is infinitely more trustworthy than everyone else in the Niflheim army, otherwise he'd have sold them out the moment they'd even mentioned freeing Noct to him and would have been given a good promotion for it.

It still doesn't make a whole lot of sense why he'd choose to help them now, but Prompto is quietly grateful for it as they start to pull into the loading dock.

Immediately, several security MTs demand his barcode for scanning, the request making his gut twist harder as he hoes it goes through -hopes the scanner doesn't pick up the number underneath instead. Hopes Ignis got all his fake credentials correct. Again, the different possibilities of failure run through his head, each more damning than the next while he waits with a stolen breath, counts the seconds in his head until he hears a tell-tale beep from the machine.

"He checks out," the MT tells the other before stepping aside so they can walk through the full-body scanners. The cameras also capture them as they move inside the metal detectors, and Gladio checks in all his firearms. Once those are reviewed and approved, they're allowed into the rest of the facility, and Prompto spots the sanitation closet where the duct's best entry point lies. No one goes in there most of the day, so it's easy to slip inside, only giving Gladio a nod before he watches the human disappear down the long hall. 

Meanwhile, Prompto locks himself inside the closet and stands on the sink there before working fast to unscrew the air vent. The hallways outside are completely silent, no evidence of anyone passing through which gives him a bit of relief. Hopefully, Gladio and Ignis are managing well on their end. They have the grueling task of actually getting Noct out of his tank and into the chest so he can be carried out, which might not be easy. Something tells him, their aquatic friend isn't going to like being stuffed into such a small compartment without much warning, but he must have some idea that they're working to free him. If not, he's in for quite a surprise.

Once the vent is opened, Prompto climbs inside and starts to crawl forward while ignoring the oppressive feeling of being inescapably trapped between the metal walls, trying to avoid the sensation of being swallowed. It's hard to regulate his own breathing when he feels so much air pushing into his face, the pressure causing his eyes to water and blot at his vision. A single fat tear escapes that he stubbornly swipes away as he presses forward, ignoring the fresh ache on his elbows and knees from the tight squeeze. He knows he almost there -he's mapped this whole entire path in his head that he's sure he can crawl through it blind, yet the actual reality of it worming his way through it makes him feel like he'll be trapped in there for centuries with no way out.

A few faint voices echo from below, slipping through the vents and filling him with renewed hesitation and fear as he struggles to keep pushing himself on. _Come on, do it for Noct_ he tells himself over and over, struggling to grasp those quickly dissolving words as he trembles a bit, feels his wrist joints nearly give out. Only the light at the end of the duct drives him forth, the promise of freedom and release, being able to finally stretch his limbs out and breathe normally. He's so desperate for it that he scurries the last few meters to the vent and starts unscrewing it with unforeseen madness.

His fingers wobble erratically around the screwdriver in his haste, and he can feel his breaths start to pick up, a harsh noise that spills too loud until the vent is ready to come off, and that's when he secures a cable to the inside of the duct, using a suction device. It's strong enough to hold his weight as he slides downwards from the ceiling and reaches the electricity panel.The first thing he notices about the panel is the tell-tale security lock requiring him to use his bar code, and he sincerely hopes that Ignis remembered to give him the same level of access as every other MT. If not, then he's got to be ready to pull himself back up and run.

His body remains tense from its hanging position, holding on to the wire one-handed while the other hovers close and waits to be scanned. He holds his breath for what feels like the most agonizing eternity packed inside just a few tight seconds until the machine beeps its approval signal, and the panel pops open.

It's still too early to relax even as he locates the main breaker switch and pulls the handle down with a single, sharp motion. The entire facility darkens at once, all the power severed in the blink of an eye, and Prompto has to switch on a portable light hooked to his breast pocket so he can find his way back up to the duct and work on screwing the vent back. Someone is going to come investigate the panel first without question, and the emergency back-up power still has ten minutes before it kicks in. That means getting through the maze with as much speed and agility as he can muster and not succumbing to his own fear. Luckily, there's no time to even process it as he removes the suction, stuffs all the tools back into his pockets, and starts crawling away fast.

Again, his panting is the only sound that echoes in the narrow tunnel, the sound all too labored and hoarse, but he doesn't think about being caught anymore, doesn't think of the people scurrying beneath them in a panic, or the commotion erupting all over the facility. All that matters is getting out with Noct and making sure he's safe, and he's really putting the bulk of his trust in Gladio's and Ignis' hands at the moment, hoping they haven't abandoned the plan already or thought to save their skins. He doesn't want to believe they'd do anything like that because the two of them are no men of Niflheim and have no loyalty to the crown that enslaved them both. 

Yet he half-expects something to have gone wrong as he makes his way out of the duct a little too easily and starts heading towards the loading dock. Gladio is already there, and though he can make out his form with his small pocket light, he can't read his expression at all. It's not as though Gladio would let it give anything away anyway. Instead, he remains calm and steadfast, ordering Prompto to move the embryos inside and store everything in the back of the van.

"We're already running behind schedule," he practically barks before climbing into the driver's seat.

"Yes, sir," Prompto says hastily as he secures both refrigeration units, using a heavy lift. One of these might contain Noct, but there's no telling which one at the moment. He doesn't hear any scratching, whimpering, or moaning which could be either a very good sign or a very bad one. It's difficult to tell, but they're almost out of this. He still doesn't want to stop and let himself think. 

 _Gladio and Ignis wouldn't have failed him._ He has to believe that. 

Once the last of the chests are stowed inside, he hears Gladio hit the gas pedal, and the two of them peel out of the facility as calmly as they can manage. Gladio manages to keep his stern silence until they make it past the external guard station, and only then does his mouth start to crack and break into a slight grin. 

"Not bad for two refugees and a MT," he remarks, and Prompto sags against the seat, already feeling more overwhelmed and relieved than he ever has in his short life. 

"Can't believe we just did that. I wonder how long we got before they notice?" 

By then, he hopes they're far away enough and so is Ignis. Then they can claim that 'the specimen' simply escaped while the power was out. What better opportunity? The jammer is offline and all the alarms are off. There's nothing to stop the creature from leaving on its own, though Prompto wonders how long they can hide him in Gralea. They have to figure out how to get him out of the city undetected and to the waters where he comes from, but he's barely even finished processing their current escape.

Gladio seems to be on the same page as he fixes Prompto with a thoughtful expression. "Probably quick. They wouldn't think to not check on their valuable captives first, and your friend, Noct, is pretty high on that list -if not the highest." 

That means they're going to be combing the whole city looking for him, which poses another threat, but for now, it's better to hide him in plain sight as they arrive at Prompto's building. Gladio points out which chest is Noct's as Prompto rushes to open it, only to receive his final relief when he sees him curled up tight inside and sleeping. 

"Taking a nap at a time like this?" Prompto teases, his voice teetering off into a breathy snort. 

He quickly finds a pair of sheets to wrap him up in before entrusting him to Gladio to carry. It's likely he still has enough sedatives in his system that he won't immediately run off, but Prompto is still unsure how much Noct really trusts them or if he has any loyalty at all to him. He might not even be aware he was saved and that they're his friends, but hopefully, he'll get the idea one day

The few security cameras in the building are easy to bypass as Prompto knows where they all are and where they're pointing. Years of avoiding them has made him a pro in dancing around the lenses so he can slip into the elevator and carry Noct inside. He then heads into his apartment and beelines to the tub so he can turn it on full blast as he tries to find some salt to add to the water to replicate the tank's environment. It probably won't be enough, but Ignis can come by later to make adjustments. All they need to do is to keep alive until then, a feat easier said than done as Gladio lowers Noct inside carefully. He can see the fish-man slowly starting to notice and study his surroundings, vivid eyes combing the small bathroom before he gives his tail an experimental flick. He then touches the soap and pokes at all the shampoos and conditioners, sniffing the bottles and trying to pour the liquid on his hands before Prompto snatches them away.

"Those aren't for eating if that's what you're thinking." 

Probably a bad idea to stock up on all that coconut-scented shampoo because he can see Noct's countenance shift into that of a sulking child's before he sinks further into the tub and lets the water cover him. The temperature will also have to be adjusted properly when Ignis gets here, but Prompto manages to provide a somewhat stable environment in the meantime.

The facilities will probably go on lock-down once they notice Noct is missing and start combing each level, looking for him. They'll probably even come to question him and Gladio at some point, but Prompto isn't worrying about that at the moment. The important part is that Noct is out of there, and pretty soon, he'll be out of Gralea entirely, on his way to wherever he came from. He's worth the risk, especially when he gives that wide-eyed stare of wonder that melts any doubt Prompto may have harbored about this 'kidnapping.' 

Gladio eyes the tub with more worry than himself as he watches Noct's tail continue to flip water out and curl as though he's trying to get what little activity he can inside.

"He'll need a lot more exercise than that or he'll atrophy fast. What's the plan for moving him into the sea?" 

It's obvious he hasn't the slightest idea as he hesitates for too long without saying anything. He hadn't been sure they'd even get him out this far, but they'll need to find a way to cross the city's borders. Or in lieu of that, airlift him out...

"Don't suppose you have any clearance to fly out aerial transport ships?" 

"As if they'd hand those out like free candy. Wouldn't even know how to fly one." 

Neither does Prompto, which isn't to say he can't learn. It just might take a bit of time -time they obviously don't have. There has to be someone who does, though he remembers a certain commodore. One who _does_ have a clearance. A chance meeting several years ago in the facility had put him in Aranea's way as she'd dragged in something big and nasty from the Cleigne region. The acrid stench had attacked him long before he'd even noticed her sharp eyes on him, but when he did, he couldn't get enough of her. Sleek, commanding, _beautiful_. Prompto was immediately entranced and could only manage a few fumbled words to her before Gladio had to chime in and rescue him from embarrassment. 

Unlike his own blubbering, Gladio had immediately hit it off with her, his whole posture relaxed and effortless as they traded barbs about who could take who on in a friendly spar. Prompto had a feeling they were just using that as a code word, but she's definitely the first person who comes to his mind when he thinks of another potential ally, if only to get the chance to see her again, say something more than a few strangled phrases. 

"What about Aranea?" 

Where as Prompto is all to eager too bring her in, Gladio instantly stiffens up and averts his eyes. 

"Not sure if I trust her. She's a mercenary, so we'd be buying her silence on this." 

And probably for too steep a price. He wonders how much the empire must be paying her to keep her quiet about half the things that go on inside of it. It must be more than either of them can afford, but it's not as though they have a whole lot of options. Noct has to get out of here one way or another. 

"But you know her well, don't you? Did she ever say anything about me?" 

A question that has little to do with the present conversation, a fact that isn't lost on Gladio as one of his eyebrows quirks in unveiled amusement. 

"I don't think she can tell any of you apart as well as I can." 

Those words hit harder than he expected, remembering he has the same face as all the other MTs. Same skin, same eyes, same voice. To any outsider, they wouldn't be able to notice the small variations. Even to those in the facility, they can only differentiate them by number. The empire has worked hard to get rid of those that do stand out, the ones that couldn't be reshaped like him. 

Of course, someone like Aranea wouldn't remember. 

"Don't take it too hard," Gladio suddenly says, interrupting his train of thought with a friendly hand on his back, "a girl like that probably has enough guys biting at her ankles to get her attention. She didn't even take me up on the sparring match." 

Which is a surprise. He doesn't think he's ever seen Gladio get rejected by anyone, let alone a woman, but maybe younger guys aren't her thing. 

A splash of water suddenly breaks the two of them out of their thoughts as they remember there's a very cranky fish-man to deal with, and he's already making the sign with his hands that he wants to eat. At least, feeding should be easier now that he doesn't have to stick food through a small hole for him. Not to mention, the food won't be soggy anymore so Noct can really taste it after weeks of treating sausages like fish flakes.

"Alright, alright. Still so needy," Prompto teases before ruffling Noct's hair as he would a dog. He then turns his attention towards Gladio before giving him one last pleading expression, "Just feel her out at least. See if she'll take the job. Otherwise, all this would have been a waste."

There's still hesitation in Gladio's expression as his eyes shift from one side to another before he heaves out a sigh. 

"No promises. Be sure to keep him in his tub and keep the empire from finding out about this in the meantime." 

"Where's he even going to go?" Prompto shoots back, "It's not like he can get up and walk out of here." 

Or hop his way out, but just in case, Prompto should probably make sure everything is locked before he leaves for his shift that evening. Hopefully, he can set up a TV in here and give Noct a bit of entertainment. Maybe even find a phone for him to play with and some gadgets to make up for the fact that he can't really swim circles at the moment.

"Don't worry," he murmurs softly to Noct, "we'll keep you safe." 

It's a promise he's already committed to keeping, knowing they've gone too far to give up at all. After they get Noct out, he doesn't care what else happens to him. His life would have been worth living because he saved at least one fish-creature. 


	2. Chapter 2

**009.**

The next few days are filled with tension at the facility as Verstael grows angry with their incompetence for allowing the specimen to escape. All the security MTs are ordered to submit their helmets and weapons for inspection while the scientists undergo interrogation. Ignis manages to keep his demeanor unflappable throughout the questioning, eyes constantly focused and trained forward, though he does admit to some negligence on his part as he had been assisting with Gladio on the transfer of the embryos while the escape had taken place. 

The MT that had been guarding the tank had been so badly injured that his helmet was taken offline, so the last bits of footage are too grainy to decipher. There is also no further hint of blood nor other signs of distress from the rest of the MTs on duty. Verstael can't piece together how it happened at all and through which route the specimen had even escaped from. 

Prompto's own alibi is airtight as he wasn't even at the facility during the time of the escape. His number shows that he had checked out early in the morning and hadn't checked back in until well after the supposed escape. Not that that gives him much reprieve as Verstael still insists on rewatching all the security tapes and taking his anger out on Ignis who is given not only a humiliating demotion but also the task of monitoring the MTs who must clear out the remains of other specimens. 

They barely come into contact with one another while at the facility any more, but Ignis regularly visits him in his apartment outside of work to monitor Noct closely and keep the tub at ideal conditions. He always brings with him proper salt water and other oils to rub on Noct's skin and scales to keep him from drying out, but Prompto still can't help but notice that Noct is already starting to look a little less vibrant than before. The facility hadn't exactly done him many favors when he'd been in there, but now the bright blue sheen of his scales is turning into a more muted cobalt. He's also no longer molting as much as he was, which Prompto can't tell if that's good or bad. Perhaps, his regeneration is slowing down, making him more vulnerable.

If it's his diet, Prompto isn't sure what else to give him. He'd been buying him all the Grade-A meat he can afford and also sneaking in some vegetation before Ignis gives himself a conniption fit from Noct's eating habits. Maybe Noct is actually gloomy about being away from home so long, but he does seem to brighten up whenever Prompto gets home after his shift, his tail flicking up and down eagerly before he leans forward and watches him with a tilt of his head. It's like having a cat that actually likes full-on baths and doesn't bring him dead rodents all the time, and Prompto almost wishes he could actually keep him. It's nice to have someone to come home to after living alone so long. Before that, he only lived with other MTs who weren't that into having conversations or exchanging gossip. 

Most of them barely said much unless they were spoken to, and their answers were always of the generic variety. Nothing with _personality_ or life, which made Prompto feel like an outcast among his own kind. Something inside of him had always been waiting to burst out since the very beginning, and he'd felt it clawing away ravenously at his insides until his thin armor started to fracture all over the place. 

Now, his biggest vulnerability lies in front of him, owlish and curious as he snatches Prompto's phone to play with. Prompto had tried to get him started on King's Knight a few days ago, but most of his explanations had seemingly gone over Noct's head. Still, Noct has been rather dedicated to learning the game and trying to furiously tap his way to victory. He'd never seen him so content as when he'd pulled his first five star and made a series of notes with his throat, a weird sound that he swear still echoes inside of his head at odd hours. 

Today, Noct seems to be pretty restless as he pushes his upper body over the end of the tub and acts like he wants to climb out. A few splashes of water spill out across the bathroom floor before Prompto has to grab him by the shouldes and try to push him back in. 

"No running around for you. Bad things will happen if anyone sees you." 

Spoken as though Noct even knows what he's saying -as though Noct could ever comprehend all the danger they've been put in. 

In response, Noct narrows his eyes a bit and splashes some water into Prompto's face then leans forward again -more quickly this time- to take an obvious whiff of Prompto's scent. He seems to linger in that position for  a bit before recoiling fast and grabbing a wet rag to push against Prompto's neck. 

"Wow, judgmental much?" Prompto huffs a little in embarrassment before experimentally smelling his arm pits. It's not the worst he's ever smelled but definitely not the best. "I'd take a proper shower, but someone's sort of taking up all the space in the tub lately." 

And sink baths can only do so much. Of course, there's the option of moving Noct out temporarily so he can wash himself or just casting all shame to the wind and bathing in front of Noct. It's not like he hadn't been nude in front of a bunch of scientists before, but he'd always felt something clinical and removed from their expressions. There had been humor, no delight, _nothing_ at all behind their gazes. Only stern observation. 

Something tells him that Noct's innate curiosity would be anything but sterile, but he's running out of options if he wants to avoid getting written up at work. Getting noticed is bad. The more he blends in with the other MTs, the better. 

As if sensing his dilemma, he watches Noct suddenly reach for one of the nozzles to turn the spray of water on from above. Prompto had shown him how to do it the other day, but he hadn't expected him to remember or even acknowledge what it's for. The whole sea is pretty much Noct's tub. What would he ever need a shower for? 

"You don't have to tell me twice. I'm going. Just don't stare too much. I know some things are new to you." 

Prompto has his doubts about whether Noct has ever seen a naked human before, though he does let him watch TV on his own. Unfortunately, Prompto doesn't have any of the racier channels or even anything outside of the basic Gralea channels which are already filtered of a lot of things. He wonders what Noct even thinks of it all, watching the constant death march of MTs as they subjugate rebel group after rebel group, the public executions that are glorified within the empire. It disgusts Prompto and makes him glad he's only ever had to deal with the occasional dissenter. 

The water smacks noisily in the background while Prompto opens the drain so the two of them don't flood the bathroom with water before he starts to peel off his uniform. The first layers are easy enough to remove, tugged off gracelessly and tossed towards the rest of his dirty clothes. He only stops as his fingers linger on the hem of the tank top underneath, remembering the way the scientists used to circle all the areas on his figure with too much body fat and give him their disapproving looks. 

 _'Too gluttonous,' Verstael would say with a sneer, 'absolutely no control over yourself. You may as well be a beast.'_  

Far from the perfect standard. Nothing he could ever feel proud to have created. 

But Prompto knows things are different now. Verstael doesn't control as much of his life anymore, can barely even remember his face nor his number from the others. He's invisible, so what does it matter if Noct sees? He can't tell an ugly MT from a pretty one. Maybe they're all faceless entities to him. Maybe he doesn't care at all.

He clings to that thought as he tugs the tank top off his body completely and reveals his lean, freckle-laced body. The rest of his clothes are removed without any sort of martial discipline, as though he were dragging rags off his body instead of a uniform he should be proud to wear. He still can't meet Noct's eyes, but he definitely feels the weight of his gaze on him as he steps towards the tub and tries to climb in until he's standing in front of Noct's crumpled tail and letting the water sluice its way down his skin.

It's frigid and needle-like in its descent, but Prompto invites the refreshing sensation of it, lets it drown him and purify him. It really had been too long since he's been able to wash himself properly, and he embraces the sensation before he feels something thin and feather like against his ankle. It's then that he realizes he's stepping all over Noct's fin, and Noct is looking at him irritably again. 

"Sorry, buddy, you take up a lot of space with that thing!" 

The bathroom had only been built for one person, and he has to struggle to fit his legs in and around Noct's fin, though he can see the vestiges of Noct's raw stare as he arranges himself, legs spread a little awkwardly, giving Noct too good of a view of everything that's dangling in between them which makes Prompto hurriedly cup himself in embarrassment. 

"Mind, uh, turning your head away?" 

As though Noct would even listen to his command, his form unnervingly still as he tries to peel Prompto's hands away from himself. What is he even- _ooh._

"Don't touch that, come on!" Prompto snaps, sure he's ready to jump about several feet above the water from Noct's eager pawing.

Definitely not his most dignified appearance, but he does keep ambling his way to the edge of the tub before Noct takes the hint and lowers his hands. There's something strange going on with his eyes when the elongated pupils shrink to slivers, and Prompto can make out the more pronounced gradient of light and dark blues. There's also a distinct iridescence to them that would be breath-taking were Prompto currently not panicking about being groped by a fish-man crammed into his tub. 

Then a distinct aroma starts to peel away from the surface of the water below, something rich yet tart like lavender and citrus blended together. Prompto can practically taste it on his tongue whenever he opens his mouth, and his own body starts to feel too hot under the spray, a pronounced warmth spreading raw and unbidden across the pit of his stomach. It only seems to burn its way fast down to his dick and leave him pulsing uncontrollably beneath his skin, and Prompto isn't sure how long he can endure it before he starts wanting to touch himself, rub the skin until it hurts.

His breaths stutter with sudden urgency, labored pants that burst out from between his lips as he curls over, keeps both hands cupped around the skin that seems to firm up by the second, and he hates that he wants to chase down the feeling, see it to completion because the exhilaration of the moment is too hard to ignore, but embarrassment stops him from even moving an inch at all. He remains firmly rooted in place instead, stubbornly ignoring the way the blood curls beneath his flesh and coils so tightly in one spot that he worries his skin might gush open. 

And if Noct notices at all, he doesn't react, only glances away as told, though he can see the creature dip his fingers into the water's surface to wet them before placing them into his mouth, all childlike wonderment gone. There's something infinitely more primitive about this behavior, as though Prompto is being shown the extent to which Noct is not human at all. That bestial side of his simply moving, _simply tasting_. 

"You're not going to eat me now, are you?" 

A question he feels is valid at the moment, his shaky voice easily giving away his uncertainty when his own body doesn't want to tame itself at the moment. His eyes are dying to commit Noct's wet shoulders to memory, the subtle shine of water against his sharp, protruding collar bones and the flecks of sun-kissed drops on his shoulders that his lips want to touch and taste in return. It's such an errant yet ever-present urge that he can feel himself bulging between his cupped fingers, the arousal that's trying to make itself known along with his fear. 

Noct remains silent as always, but his expression starts to soften a bit as he tugs his fin in towards himself like a human would hugging their knees. That's when he crosses his arms over it and hides his face almost timidly, and Prompto has to wonder if he was misreading him the whole time. Was Noct upset? Weirded out? Scared? If only he could talk to him and tell him what he was feeling, but all Prompto can do is make guesses. 

Then he remembers that day back in the lab when Noct had put his forehead against his, the warm to cool skin sensation of the touch and the flurry of images that had passed through Prompto's head. It's the only time he could think where Noct ever really tried to tell him something about himself, but he doesn't even know if it was just an illusion. No, he's _certain_ he saw Noct's home. Somehow, Noct was able to transfer the thought to him, and he obviously hadn't tried again because of how Prompto had reacted then. He must have thought he'd done something wrong, and Prompto never really gave him any indication that he didn't. 

Sudden guilt overrides all other emotions as he finds himself sinking closer to Noct's level, and his hand snakes around the creature's damp neck, touching it for a moment and trying to get Noct to lift his head. 

"It's okay... I'm not mad. If you want to talk, I'll listen. I'm a pretty good listener, too, so try me." 

Noct may not be able to parse the meaning behind those words, but he does raise his head a bit, his eyes peeking out, and Prompto notices the red brush of blood cells on the surface of Noct's skin. They look rich and vibrant as the creature meets his gaze.

"You can do your forehead thing again, if you want to. I'm ready this time," Prompto tries to reassure him.

It's hard to steel his breath when their current quarters are so cramped. There's really nowhere to run from to escape Noct's enigmatic stare, but he doesn't particularly want to. Not when Noct is starting to open up more to him, and he can feel the cool touch of his fingers mimicking Prompto's grip as they curl around the back of his neck. For a long time, they stay frozen in that position, touching each other, meeting eye to eye, and Noct's skin suddenly feels unbearably warm, as though a human heart were pumping red hot blood through his veins and nothing else. It's the kind of touch he wants to bury himself into, bury himself _inside_ , but he only indulges as Noct seems to, welcomes it even more when Noct closes the distance, shuts his eyes.

When their foreheads meet, he sees a whirlpool swirling around Noct, the rotating current that tries to trap him in and pull him down, but Noct swims fast against it before emerging from the water's surface. The cloudless sky greets him, an endless horizon of blue while the sun heats Noct's face before a song drifts from close by, a siren's melody. Where Noct floats, more sea creatures like him send their songs heavensward until something dark flies overhead, an endless vessel that covers the sun and casts a large shadow over them.

Balls of fire then start to rain from the sky, torrential flares that set the ocean's surface on fire, and Noct cries out as one strikes his shoulder, leaving him sinking back too fast, completely submerged. An angelic-looking creature then swims after him, her golden hair spread out around her like a shroud, and she reaches out to him, fingers touching his briefly. But blood veils the water between them, forming a red curtain until the vision of her gradually fades away, and Noct jerks his body away enough to move his fingers in front of Prompto's lips, tracing the cool pads of them along the surface of his skin back and forth. 

Prompto tries to hold his breath for fear of scaring him away, his entire body tensing under the onslaught of such an intimate touch. If only he could read what other thoughts might be forming behind Noct's eyes, digging through the surreal blue gradient that seems to blow out the thinner his pupils get. Again, that intoxicating scent around him peels off Noct's skin and grabs a hold of Prompto like sticky vines, pushing their way inside his mouth and nose until he can't breathe anything but Noct, and it's _so good_ and overpowering. A scent that would drag him to his knees and make him love submitting to it, and he searches for more like a wild and rabid stray, pushing his nose suddenly into the crook of Noct's neck, brushing over the soft skin there and pressing his tongue right up against Noct's frantic pulse just to feel the way it rises from the contact. 

His tongue then drags back and forth over the same patch of skin, tasting the salt water there and something tangy and sharp that curls against the pit of his stomach, makes all his body heat cascade down his legs until he wants to curl them around Noct's tail and just _press_ into him. He's not sure what it would achieve, but the urge is there, unbridled and unforgiving as Prompto thrusts once against Noct before realizing what he's doing. Remembers that he's in a tub and pasting himself to a sea creature who doesn't even have the means to tell him whether or not he wants to be touched or licked, and the expression on Noct's face scares him. Wide-eyed, unblinking before the creature faces away, and there's some mirrored uncertainty there. 

It's enough to convince Prompto that Noct might not want this, and he immediately pulls himself away and grabs a towel, leaving water pooling across the floor as it streams down his body. 

"Guess I got carried away," he murmurs sheepishly, trying to fight against the guilt dominating every other emotion at the moment. If only Noct could reassure him or give him some sign he doesn't mind, but who knows how and if Noct can mate. There's so much Noct can't tell him, and so much Prompto wants him to say. 

But he's stupid for wanting that much, and he continues to beat himself up inside for it as he retreats into his bedroom, still wound up and frustrated. His body hadn't been able to control itself at all in front of him, and he can't even begin to explain the way Noct smelled or why. Ignis had said he couldn't smell anything unusual or different about him, but maybe being an MT just makes him extra sensitive to that kind of thing. Who knows? He's sure maybe Noct had been trying to say something with that vision, but Prompto doesn't know what. 

There had been what looked like a female version of whatever he is, a more ethereal being who could have fallen out of the pages of the Cosmogony. Was she his lover? The both of them looked crushed at being separated, and Prompto is certain the blood was hers. Maybe Noct is still getting over losing his mate and hasn't quite coped with it? The general feeling he got from Noct while the vision played had been overwhelming sadness. And here he was trying to take advantage without thinking. 

His face falls into his palms as he tries to breathe out and get himself together. It's obvious he has some things to work out about himself, about all these urges that have gone unanswered for years, about the first hint of _real_ yearning he's ever experienced. Not just a passing crush or attraction. He really wants to be something more to Noct, but he isn't even sure what that is or if Noct could ever want the same. How would it even work out? Noct comes from somewhere Prompto can't reach nor survive in. There's just no way.

 

**010.**

Ignis stops by two days later, his lab kit in hand as he goes through his routine checks, measuring the water's temperature and salinity, taking a look at Noct's scales and skin color for any changes. Prompto idly reads over the young scientist's shoulder, keeping an eye on some of the irregularities, namely Noct's internal temperature constantly rising, which makes him feel rather concerned. He knows the apartment isn't all that suitable as a habitat, and it's only a matter of time before Noct really starts to get sick. It looks like his scales are also getting lighter, and his body is losing some of its muscle mass. 

Without any exercise, he's going to have a hard time being able to swim as he used to, but Prompto hasn't heard back from Gladio about the aerial transport unit and his talks with Aranea. It would be great if they could get her help, but she might be asking for too high of a price. Not to mention, they'd have to come clean about some of this, and there's a chance she could rat them out to Verstael for a higher paid position. 

They have to be careful with what risks they're willing to take, but Prompto wants to get Noct out of here sooner rather than later. It's already gotten strange between them since the day he decided to take a shower with him, and Prompto hasn't bothered getting in the tub since. Even if it means he starts to stink, he'd rather not cave into the temptation that arises from being near him, though now that Ignis is here...

"Hey, Ignis, I did notice something else was off about him the other day..." 

Not the best of starts, but Prompto isn't sure how to broach the subject with any sort of delicacy it probably demands. He's not even sure if it's worth mentioning, but he should probably try and find out what's going on before it's too late.

Ignis' eyes move up from the journal he'd been scrawling his notes in neatly before he fixes his steady gaze on Prompto. 

"What is it?" 

For a moment, Prompto can't quite seem to find his voice, fingers itching to toy with his own shirt cuffs before he finally continues, "Just thought you should know that the smell thing I told you about before. It's getting a lot more noticeable." 

"Noticeably good or noticeably bad?" Ignis prods.

Good. _Real good_. The kind of good where Prompto is afraid of himself around Noct, as though he'll suddenly succumb to some kind of mania and drive his fingers into Noct's skin, hold him down, touch him, embrace him, demand to be swallowed in by him. 

His expression must be demonstrative enough because Ignis is already adding something to his notes while Prompto fights to keep his cheeks from catching fire. If only Ignis even knew half of what he'd been thinking since that day and how weird he'd been feeling, a constant nagging, craving sensation that lives thick against the back of his brain. Unavoidable, ever-present, and he can't stop it from creeping into every other thought. He still isn't even sure what it is he wants to do with Noct, only that there's some instinct driving him to do it, one he knows shouldn't exist. One that doesn't belong to an MT. 

"I see," is Ignis' enigmatic response before he continues to question him. "And how close were you when you picked up his scent?" 

"Er, not close at all! I could pick it up from the other room." 

Only partially a lie. He _can_ pick it up from far away, but its intoxicating effects only seem to really hit him hard when they're pressed up together, touching skin to skin. 

"Are you familiar with snake and amphibian reproductive behavior?" 

Prompto is sure there is a point to be made by all this, but he can't quite grasp it at the moment. He quickly shakes his head, not even sure if he'd ever seen those types of animals mating. Here he thought they just kind of mounted each other and eggs happened a few days later. 

"Noct does have a bit of amphibian biology in him and in how he's able to breathe both in and water, which stands to reason that he can emit certain chemicals to persuade viable mates to come to him." 

Prompto's eyes practically pop out of his skull as he balks at Ignis, hoping he didn't say what he think he said. 

"Like pheromones??" 

A single nod confirms this, and Prompto isn't sure what to make of it. If Noct had been unwittingly spewing out pheromones, does that mean its fish mating season? Isn't he male? Don't only females emit pheromones? 

"Wait, wait, _how_? Why? Does he know at all?" 

Ignis' gaze slants towards the bathroom before he shakes his head gently. In spite of Prompto's obvious state of shock, he remains entirely unfettered by the direction of their conversation. Perhaps even amused, given how much his lips are twitching upwards at the edge. Is he actually fighting to maintain his composure?

"A number of explanations. Certain fishes exhibit hermaphrodotism in cases where there aren't enough males in the population or due to environmental factors. Frogs have also been known to change to sex in sparsely populated areas. But given how little we know of Noct's kind, it could be for a variety of reasons. As for why only you can smell it thus far, I assume perhaps he may be targeting you specifically." 

"Tar..get...," he whispers uncertainly, feeling that same rush of heat from before, pulsing across his face as nods dumbly. 

"Or maybe it's something in your genetic make-up that is more receptive to it. We'd need to test it out on more than just us two, but that opportunity is off the table at the moment." 

Prompto still can't get over the fact that Noctis might actually be trying to entice him in some way, assuming he's even doing it on purpose. If he is, would Noct tell him or would he just act on those feelings without thinking? Would Prompto even want him to? He's not completely sure what he wants to believe, but his heart is already flailing itself against his rib cage at the thought alone that Noct might actually really like him. 

Yet there will always be that uncertainty rearing its ugly head, telling him that it can't be. That Noct doesn't know or understand what he's doing. That Prompto shouldn't get his hopes up at all. The two of them think too differently, and both of them are monsters in completely opposite ways. Noct is only one because he looks different, and Prompto is one because of all the horrific things he's seen and done. The refugees he shot at point blank. The beasts he helped wrangle in. The times he never spoke up against Verstael even when his gut was twisting hard in place. Noct isn't like that at all. 

He's gentle, skittish, occasionally irritable, full of wonder and curiosity. If he were to lash out, it would only be out of instinct to survive and nothing else. He'd never once seen him as violent and malicious. 

"I don't think-," he starts before swallowing down too much air at once and feeling his head spin with the sensation, "I don't think it's like that." 

The journal is shoved into Ignis' travel bag before he rises from his chair and starts to move towards the bathroom. He doesn't bother to slow down or turn to look at him when he responds, "Perhaps not or perhaps so. Even if you were able to ask him frankly about the truth, there's a chance he would never answer you."

The fish-man in question has been lounging in the tub this entire time, absently snacking on a bag of chips while watching some show he probably doesn't understand. He watches the way Noct's pupils move with interest along the different figures before he sinks his fangs into the crisp surface of the chip. A few crumbs fall into the water, reminding Prompto he'll have to clean it out. Without any particular filtration system, it's easy for all that stuff to accumulate, but Noct seems content. Almost like a regular human in quiet repose. 

It's difficult to say how much of how he behaves is his honest self or if he has the capacity to lie at all. Would he really avoid telling the truth if Prompto was able to talk to him? He thought he could infer from his expression and behavior well enough, but maybe he'd been misreading him. Noct's scent the other day had given every indication that he wanted to be pursued while his body language had clammed up like he hadn't.

Or maybe Noct is at odds with himself, like a teenager trying to fit their growing bones into too small skin. Maybe Noct doesn't understand it any better than himself. Maybe he's scared of how he feels in the same ways Prompto is. Then where does that leave them aside from Prompto flipping the possibilities over in his mind until he feels listless and tired? He isn't sure if he even wants to keep fighting with his own messed up instincts at the moment. 

It'd be easier if they both surrendered than if they said nothing at all, but who knows if Noct agrees? Prompto can't even wrap his mind around the thought of doing anything more than touching him. _How_ would he even do anything beyond that? 

"Don't hurt your brain too much over it," Ignis chides before snatching the chips distastefully from Noct's grip, a move that earns him the creature's ire, "And don't spoil him so much. He'll become even more incorrigible than he already is." 

"Is that a bad thing? It's not like his life has been that great the past couple of weeks." 

Which maybe makes Prompto way too generous, but he's never really had to take care of anything before. He used to feed strays by the alley, and they'd follow him to his doorstep only to disappear the next day. Prompto would never see them at all again, and he'd be wondering if they went on to get adopted or if they got run-over. He liked to think some small family found them and took them in, but his gut says the opposite. 

"It won't improve if he's too big to be moved out of the tub. I'm already concerned with how high his temperature keeps rising." 

A thermometer is shoved into his hand as though Prompto harbored any doubts. He's felt it himself in passing touches, a heat too pronounced not to notice. It wasn't feverish but certainly well above what a fish-man should be. Hopefully, it doesn't mean he's falling terribly ill under his care, though his gut says the opposite again. 

"What can we do in the meantime?" 

Ignis' brow remains drawn together, a pinched expression on his features before he slowly shakes his head. 

"Nothing at the moment. We need to find a way to get him back to the ocean for good." 

Keeping him here would only do more harm than good. Ignis doesn't have to point that out to him, though Prompto thinks he's stalling because he doesn't like the idea of living alone once more, having no one to talk to or hang out with. No curious eyes following him through his banal activities, none of the gentle splashing from Noct's tail or the symphony of quiet, snoring breaths as he gets ready in the afternoons. It's a hard life to give up, but Noct's family is waiting for him out there. Were he in his place, he'd hate to be taken away from people that love him and who are probably worried sick searching for him everywhere. 

"I asked Gladio to look into air transport from the Commodore, so there's that. Hopefully, the big guy comes through." 

There's a nod that doesn't quite reach Ignis' eyes as though he's doubting it'll be that easy. Prompto shares the same misgivings about letting someone else in on their secret, but there isn't a whole lot either of them can do. It's either put their trust in a relative stranger or try braving the security gates on their own, and that'd just risk all four of them being thrown in prison or executed for treason. Neither of those are appealing prospects, so he has to really focus on finishing the plan. No more playing around. Noct is counting on them even if he may not understand what they're trying to do. He probably will the moment he sees the ocean waters again and can dive in and swim around like he used to, as though he never even left. It's a sobering thought as he sees Ignis out of his apartment and dedicates the rest of the evening studying different routes in and out of Gralea.   
 

**011.**

Over the course of the week, the investigation seems to ramp up as security tightens around the facility. Several of the MTs that were on duty the day of the escape 'mysteriously' disappear without a trace, their numbers completely erased from the system, and a lot of research assistants face demotions as Verstael flexes his rank before them. That leaves only a few familiar faces to greet him every evening, though Prompto remains undeterred, progressing as usual. Keeping his worries bottled up as he prepares his uniform. Noct has all but stopped moving, laying listless to one side as he breathes shallowly against the tub's wall. His eyes are rimmed in a reddish color while his skin looks fleshier than Prompto ever recalls seeing it. It's as though all his blood vessels are busting at once to give him so much color, and the scent permeating his form is not that of a rotting corpse but the fragrant morning sea salt with something inescapably tart.

Prompto can never get it out of his mind, and it sticks to his clothes and hair stubbornly which makes him think that other people will be able to smell it on him -be able to detect he's been in the presence of the 'specimen' recently. Even showering doesn't seem to wash it away, but he's not sure what else he can do. If it's pheromones, then how does he calm them down outside of the obvious? If it isn't, well... he's worried Noct might be severely infected with something as his naps grow longer and as his skin feels fever-hot to Prompto's touch.

He lets a few of his fingers linger over Noct's forehead, tracing over the soft surface and moving some of his damp hair away. That temperature is definitely not normal, and he makes a mental note to have Gladio come in and check up on him while he's at work since both he and Ignis have the same shift. It's either that or call out sick himself, but MTs don't get sick days. They're perfect in every way, a self-deprecating mantra that drones on in the background of his head as he checks Noct's vitals. 

The dull throb beneath his fingers is worrisome, but he doesn't know what to do about it. He's been feeding Noct regularly and changing his water when he can. He's also been following Ignis' instructions on measuring the salinity and temperature of the water to make it the most habitable for a sea-dweller. Still, he lies on the porcelain edge of the tub, looking like a limp flower that hasn't been fed sunlight in so long. 

"We'll get you home soon," he murmurs softly, afraid to pull his fingers away. 

If Noct hears him at all, he barely gives any indication, only pressing tighter against Prompto's out-stretched fingers as he slumbers deeply. Just in case, Prompto leaves the air on full-blast so Noct can cool down as he drags himself out of the apartment reluctantly. A quick message is sent off to Gladio in the hopes that the human will manage to stop by and give him a report. Anything has to be better than just spending all night wondering where Noct is, if he's still alive, if he hasn't keeled over yet. Gladio still hasn't had a chance to speak to Aranea since she's out on a mission in Accordo, so who knows when she'll be back? It could be days or it could be months. They might not have that kind of time to wait. 

The worry continues to eat up at him inside as he arrives to check in at the facility. Before he can begin the process, however, two high-ranking officers signal him to follow. His breath tightens in his throat, a growing lump that expands across delicate tissue and threatens to tear its way out as he tries to maintain composure. The helmet masks his expression until he's ordered to remove it. Why? They don't say, and his fight or flight mechanism is evoked as he gnaws on the inside of cheek and takes a seat across a backwards turned chair. For a few seconds, he simply is left to hear himself breathe as his eyes follow the endless expanse of black leather, combing up and down as though he were looking for a loose thread on the fabric or spilled out stuffing from within the chair's cushion.

Before he can find any, the chair swivels around slowly to reveal a face well-recognized by everyone in Gralea. Reptilian eyes that stare at him unblinking and a smile full of knives. The Chancellor's features are unmistakable as is the stench that wafts from his body, something that reminds Prompto of burning fuel and the copper scent of rusted pipes, and it takes effort not to recoil as the Chancellor motions to him to sit. 

" MT - 05953234, I presume?" the man questions, his cheek coming to lay on his palm as he childishly drums the tips of his fingers against his own flesh," I could be mistaken. You all look so similar right down to your every last freckle."

"That is correct, sir." Prompto can't help but sounding stiff as he keeps his posture straight, eyes trained forward, utilizing every muscle in his body to appear as 'generic' as possible. 

"I went through your file earlier and noticed a few abnormalities. Overweight through most of your childhood and adolescence, exhibiting unusual behavioral traits...," a humming sound follows those words as the Chancellor pulls up a large manila folder and slides it towards Prompto, though Prompto doesn't have to look inside to know what's in it. He'd been told about it all his life, constantly branded as 'abnormal' in one way or another. 

"Verstael made a note about your empathetic behavior towards strays -mice, cats, dogs. Anything you found, you wanted to feed," the man continues, "And say you found something much larger to feed. Would you do so? How could you resist the temptation? The reward is always loyalty, is it not?" 

A small laugh bubbles out of the Chancellor's throat as Prompto tries to think of how to answer -if he even should answer. There's probably nothing he can say to wrangle him out of whatever suspicions the Chancellor may already harbor, though Prompto does want to know why the recently escaped specimen was so important as to require his intervention in the investigation. Just what were they planning on doing with Noct in the end? 

"But not always. Some beasts do bite down on the hands that feed and make a mockery of your generosity. You can't control creatures of instinct. That's why _you_ were created. For obedience. All of humanity's fatal flaws removed." 

Just barely a step above being machines themselves. This he knows, yet the words still strike like a blade to his gut, twisting the sharpened edge through his entrails, making it harder to breathe inside his suddenly too-tight uniform. 

"And surely I have no reason to suspect that any of our most loyal MTs would betray us." 

Though the question is a statement, the Chancellor phrases it like a question that Prompto doesn't want to answer. The last thing he ever wanted to be asked because his eyes are too naked without his helmet, and he knows what they'll say. He'd take the chance to betray them in a heartbeat, knowing the feeling that's been bubbling inside him for too long now, incessant and encroaching. 

"No," he finally answers, "We would not." 

Spoken as though he's one of them, another cog in the Niflheim machine. Mindlessly twisting in place, performing as bid. 

"Have I given you reason to think otherwise?" he asks after a moment, trying to keep his neutral affectation. 

The Chancellor doesn't respond for a while, merely making a show of flipping through his file one agonizing sheet at a time. A few photographs are clipped at the top, images of his birth in one of the incubation chambers and his progress from infancy to adolescence. Each recorded line of his weight, his height, his appearance, all there for anyone to peruse. His history neatly summed up inside a manila folder that concludes with his current assignment.

"You were chosen to guard the specimen tank in the East Wing Lab for the evening shifts. A promotion for twenty years of loyal service." 

Again, he's tossing the notion of loyalty around like he knows how flimsy of a concept it is. It leaves Prompto feeling uneasy as he tries to escape the dizzy sensation from breathing out too fast. 

"Verstael says you even assisted our young and astute Ignis with feeding time. How quaint." 

It all connects, Prompto knows. Feeding animals. His outpouring of sympathy for them. His inability to treat anything as lesser. _Prompto_ is the lesser one for not having lifted a finger to save any of them. 

"Did you think of the specimen as your personal pet?" 

A sharp accusation disguised as a question because the Chancellor looks at him like he already knows the answer to that, too. Still, Prompto stubbornly shakes his head. "Sustenance was provided to maintain the specimen's weight and physical form as per instructions." 

A line Ignis would have spoken out loud were he asked the same question. They couldn't allow the specimen to die unless ordered to. 

"Of course," the Chancellor concedes before closing back the file, "only following instructions as usual, but the _specimen_ as everyone is fond of calling him, is more than just a toy for Verstael. If he were still around..."

The man's litlting voice trails off as he stands up and walks around the desk, his heels clicking ominously along the floor before he stoops closer to Prompto's level, leans in _too close_ for comfort. And Prompto inhales a mouthful of that thick smokey smell, feeling like he could choke on the stench as it buries itself in his lungs and expands its way inside of him. Volatile and invasive. Absolutely disgusting. 

"...Well, I'd know," the Chancellor finishes, "because he and I have a special bond." 

An enigmatic smile unfurls across the Chancellor's face as he remains hunched over him, and it hasn't escaped Prompto's notice that he had referred to Noct as a 'he' and not an 'it' like everyone else does, which makes Prompto wonder how exactly the two of them are tied together. Did they meet during the captivity or some time before? Did Noct do something to provoke the Chancellor, remain more than just a fleeting memory in the human's mind? 

He'll have to try and get answers out of Noct later, but for now, he asks him in a steady voice, "Am I dismissed?" 

The Chancellor only slides in closer, his eyes drawn to Prompto's. They linger there like twin darts that pin Prompto in place, and he's close enough that Prompto can pick up on every pore on his face and the way the vivid green of his eyes seems to overwhelm his pupils. They're nothing like the calm blue of Noct's eyes, none of the same gentle allure. The're more volatile like the surface of liquid magma. 

Then the Chancellor finally draws away like a parting curtain, his coat brushing across the ground as he permits Prompto passage.

"Don't be a stranger," he tells him in a sing-song tone that plucks awkwardly at the back of Prompto's neck, stays with him until long after he's reached his station. 

There is still sweat built up between his fingers, and he feels restless as he fiddles with his phone. A quick text is all he manages to get out to Gladio.

_'Please tell me how Noct is doing.'_

He doesn't want to say any more, shaking from inside his skin and unable to escape the feeling that he's been cornered. All these years, the metal shell around himself had been fracturing, and the researchers had all been noting down his slow demise on thin note paper. Every misstep, every time he veered out of the standard and let all the mistakes slip through. He won't be able to hide it much longer, but maybe he can find a way to escape with Noct when the time comes. Anything to hide away from the constant lingering stares, the cameras, eyes that never stop following, plastered on all the floors and ceilings. 

He can't stay in this place forever, and the Chancellor will likely try and talk to him again. 

 

 **012.**  

It's almost midnight when Gladio receives the latest text from Prompto, driving en route to his apartment with Iris in the passenger side of his car. She'd gone to a party that evening at one of her friend's house, and he'd arrived just in time to scare down the guy that had been putting the moves on her. He had lingered there and made extra sure it would be impossible for that guy to go home that night with dry underwear. 

Ever since their father died back during the attack on Insomnia, he'd been left to fill the role of a father figure to Iris since he'd been her only blood relative remaining. Their foster parents had regarded them rather distantly even though they had treated the both well enough, but it had been obvious that they had their misgivings about taking care of two outsiders. By the time he was legally an adult and firmly instated in the military, he had assumed all responsibilities as her guardian, making sure she'd grow up a relatively normal life, considering all that's happened to them already.

Gladio had only been thirteen when the attack on Insomnia had even taken place. Old enough to have known the full scope of having their city-state destroyed but too young to actually do anything about it. Several other refugees had been captured and taken in as a sign of goodwill, so that the Niflheim Empire could present themselves as bastions of generosity to the world at large, and the other kingdoms had eaten up their false rhetoric. All the while, Gladio had to swallow down his hatred and disgust so he could make sure Iris had a home. 

Like the other refugees, they're all imprisoned here, disallowed from leaving Gralea's fortified walls without special permission and supervision. He hasn't seen anything outside of the snow capped hills surrounding the capital in a long time and still clings tight to the memories of his father taking him to the beaches near Insomnia and pointing the ruins of the old kingdom. He'd had told him the original Insomnia was once beneath the sea, a city ruled by water gods and protected for centuries from invasion, but then man grew wings. And with the ability to fly came the ability to glide over the sea entirely and reach heights where the water could no longer protect anyone. 

It all seemed like pure fairy tales to Gladio until he'd gaped at the curled up creature in the tank that day, an enigmatic being Prompto had the gall to call 'Noct.' Suddenly all those tall tales were filtering back into his head, and Gladio had to accept that his old man wasn't entirely full of it. Still, he would hesitate to call Noct a god when he seems to be at their mercy at the moment, locked up in a small tub and being fed like a hound. 

With Prompto's insistence about Noct's ailing health, Gladio is more disinclined to believe that he'll live very long as he is.   
But sneaking him out is a tall order, and he's still waiting to get a bit of alone time with Commodore Aranea, though he's not sure what he can even say to her. If they frame it as a regular delivery, she might do it, no questions asked. Money exchanged and the crate with Noct dropped off -but that means they'd have to keep from telling her what's _inside_. There are a lot of factors to consider, the most pressing one being whether or not Noct will even live that long. 

Gladio isn't even sure why he's putting his neck on the line like this, knowing what will happen to him and Iris if they do get caught. Something about Prompto's conviction or maybe something in Noct's eyes made his resolve crumble fast. He felt like there was this niggling connection to the water creature, as though Noct and his people really had been the true protectors of Insomnia long ago. Bound by blood and loyalty. They may have all once been as one, and no matter how far away from the city Gladio may be, he'll never forget where he came from, a brand that's been inked into his skin since he was a child. 

But what he really wants to ask Noct is where were his people where when Insomnia finally fell. How come they did nothing to protect them then? _Could_ they have done anything? There's so little he knows about these supposed gods. They could just be animals, but Noct's animated expressions have always convinced him otherwise. There's knowledge and curiosity there, something pensive and almost solemn that does tug heavily at Gladio's heart even when he doesn't want it to.

It's the same way he feels about Prompto, who he knows he should hate. An MT and one that's killed other refugees. Yet he seems just as trapped as the rest of them, aching to tear his way out of his imperial armor, evolve outside of what he'd been born into. Gladio wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't try and help the two of them, though he knows Ignis is already bearing the brunt of the punishment for all of them. Being demoted to what's essentially a waste management position probably isn't easy on the guy, but it could have been far worse. What they're doing is definitely dangerously stupid, which is why he can't let anyone catch wind of anything off inside that apartment.

A quick check-in shouldn't be a problem just to make sure Noct isn't groaning up a storm in there from being sick or whatever is going on with him. The hard part is keeping Iris from knowing, but luckily, she's too distracted by her text conversation to ask too many questions.

"Just going to pull up to my friend's place and feed his cat for him." 

The lie rolls easily off his tongue as Gladio pulls into the parking garage. The designated employee dormitories always have their own personal security, but it's nothing his badge with bypass. 

"Stay in the car," he orders once he's parked in the visitor's section. 

Iris glances up at her phone to puff her cheeks out at him, clearly still annoyed he scared off her suitor. She doesn't answer him, only fixing him with a grumpy expression, but Gladio would rather her be grumpy in _his_ car than out in someone else's car so he leaves her there to stew as he heads on up. Prompto lives on the seventh floor in a corner room which is mostly comprised of a small kitchenette towards the entrance, a sitting area, a small bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. There's a key card that Prompto left him with in case of emergencies, one he puts to use as he hears the tell-tale hiss of the door sliding for him.

The apartment inside looks completely undisturbed, only a jacket strewn over the couch and a few comic books scattered across the table. The walls have a few photographs tacked up, most of them of places around Gralea -the arbotoreum, train rails, close-ups of alley cats. They say the camera lens says a lot about the eyes behind it, and he can see Prompto's obsession with down-trodden creatures. He must feel like they're kindred spirits, though Gladio can't fault the guy. He's got his own soft spots, and right now, he's nursing one of those soft spots as he moves towards the bathroom. Just a quick glance should be okay, expecting Noct to be as he last saw him, curled up on one side of the tub and deep asleep. He can't remember the last time he'd come here and the creature was awake and about, but it's probably for the best. He's probably not Noct's favorite person at the moment. 

His hand grips the sliding door, pushing it aside before he peeks in -and promptly freezes. An empty tub. All the water drained. Only traces of mineral on the bottom of it but no blood, no signs of rotten flesh or anything. If there was a scuffle at all, he can't tell as he glances around the bathroom, his eyes moving over the endless desert of crisp white tiles. It's all too clean and orderly, as though no fish creature had ever dwelt inside which makes Gladio wonder if he got the right apartment, but the key card wouldn't have worked if that were the case. 

He quickly starts searching through the rest of the apartment, poking his way through Prompto's bedroom before tugging open his closet, peaking under his couch, checking the refrigerator of all places. All empty or bearing no signs that Noct was there. Shouldn't there be a trail of water out of the tub? How long ago did he get out, and where could he have gone? 

His stomach starts to drag its way down his body, burdened by an unforgiving feeling of dread, and though he's usually the last one to panic when things get rough, he's starting to feel the edges of his control fray fast as he starts looking down the hallways, perusing all of the stairwells. Just how far could Noct even have gone? He can't really move without water, and there's no way he could fit down the drain unless he used some kind of magic to spirit himself away. It's entirely possible, but why would he disappear without a word? Here he thought Noct and Prompto got along pretty well. 

The whole situation is baffling to him, and he steals a breath so he can calm himself and give the apartment a second look-over. Before he can, however, a shriek erupts from inside, a familiar one.

_Iris._

Gladio bolts inside as fast as he can before facing the last thing he ever wanted to see that night. Noct stands before them, skin completely bare and his eyes glowing vividly as he stares down at his younger sister. Instead of the fin Gladio had been accustomed to seeing on him, the creature sports two legs with scales running down them in patches and slight webbing on his toes as though he were part frog instead of part fish. The scales around him also have a subtle bioluminescence in the dim lighting that makes him look all the more alien and ethereal against the banal sterility of Prompto's apartment. 

Even more distracting is the fact that Noct isn't quite that fish-like below his waist either, a fact that hits him like a speeding bullet between the eyes before he rushes to cover up Iris' gaze and preserve whatever innocence might be left after seeing all of that. 

"I told you to stay in the car!" he snaps all the while dragging his sister away from Noct. 

"I-I thought you were feeding a cat! I wanted to see it! That's-that's not a cat!!" 

He knows. _He knows._ How is he even going to explain this away? Something tells him Iris isn't going to buy that it's just a pageant costume. 

"I'll explain it to you later. Right now, you need to get out of here." 

His upper body strength comes in handy as he practically carries her into Prompto's bedroom and pushes her inside then closes the door, holding it firmly shut before he eyes Noct squarely in the face. If Noct is scared or worried, he doesn't show it, blinking at him owlishly before moving in closer -far too close for Gladio's liking. He can smell something vibrant around him, a scent like a fresh ocean wave crashing into his face, drowning him fast as he tries to concentrate on the situation. This can't be happening right now. Noct shouldn't be able to walk like this, but he's never looked more human than he does now, peach-tinted flesh, lips blush-colored, heat radiating from his body for the first time ever. 

"What the hell are you doing out of the tub, Noct? You trying to get us all in trouble?? Do you know how hard it was to even get you out of that place?" 

He can't help the outburst of anger as Noct precariously wanders around without a clue of how much danger he's putting them all in. All he had to do was stay put and not do anything, but he clearly doesn't care about any of that. Why would he? He has no attachment to any of them even if they did rescue him. He's never shown an ounce of gratefulness, and for all the sympathy Gladio had felt for him moments ago, he can't stand to look at him right now. 

"Gladdy!!" Iris yells from the other side of the door, "Let me out! What is that thing? Why didn't you tell me about it?" 

Protests that go ignored as Gladio tries to figure out what to even do. Where does he put Noct now? If he can walk around like this, then he can leave the apartment at his own behest -might have even done so already. 

Noct's eyes seem to dart back and forth from Gladio to the door a few times, clearly showing signs of confusion before his expression twists into something close to agony, lips curled and eyes scrunched closed. The rest of his body starts to hunch over before Noct stalks over to the fridge and pulls it open to promptly try and cram his body against the frigid air. 

It's definitely one of the strangest reactions Gladio has seen from him yet, though he's sure if Noct is just skirting around whatever is actually wrong with him. Maybe he really is feeling terrible and trying to find some way to survive which makes Gladio feel a little guilty in turn for snapping at him. He probably shouldn't hide all this from Iris since it affects her just as much, but if she starts whispering about it at school to any of her friends, she'll immediately be seized by the government for interrogation. It was a risk he wanted to avoid, but he can't help but feel like it's too late now. 

He never should have brought her here. 

Air rushes out from between his lips as he relaxes his grip on the door and opens it enough to see Iris' face. "Grab some clothes from Prompto's closet. Then we'll talk." 

The concession is enough to appease her as she runs to the closet and tries to pick something out. "Is he from one of those secret government facilities where they do all the tests? I heard from the other kids in class that they always dissect all kinds of aliens in there." 

Not far from the truth, but the aliens are closer to home than they think. Noct himself apparently had been living in the sea around Lucis for who knows how many years before the empire had learned of him, and there are far stranger things that have been dragged through the lab doors, things that are too confidential to talk about but he'd really just rather keep the memories of them firmly buried out of reach. 

"Something like that. Prompto, the MT that lives here, was on babysitting duty." 

"Oh, so you guys didn't break him out?" 

The question he'd hoped wouldn't get asked. 

"Something like that." 

Which is all the confirmation she needs before she finally settles on an glitzy, leather-clad outfit far too trendy for a sea creature. Far too trendy for even an MT. What was Prompto doing with that in his closet? 

"I was thinking sweats, not clubbing gear. Find something loose." 

Iris' cheeks puff out again before she mutters the words "no fun" beneath her breath. A t-shirt comes sailing towards his head moments later along with running sweats. Now, the question is how he's going to get Noct in them when he seems absolutely allergic to the idea of being covered up -which Gladio can relate to. No reason to hide when there's nothing to hide, but for Iris' sake, he holds out the clothes to Noct.

"I'm not dressing you," he tells the creature, who seems perfectly content to ignore him as he remains hunched over by the fridge. 

A few more seconds tick by with an unresponsive Noct before Gladio finally drags him away and tries to get the shirt down his head. His efforts buy him a sudden sharp scratch across his chest, blood quickly rising to the surface and curdling in the air. Iris gasps behind him and immediately rushes in to help before fixing Noct a stern look.

"No! Bad alien, bad! You don't scratch Gladdy!" 

The chastisement seems to work because Noct instantly glances away and rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly, looking more like a human child than a god. If it weren't for the scales patched all over his skin, Gladio would easily be fooled. 

It takes a bit of instruction and admonishment, but Noct finally manages to get dressed, though it's obvious from the way he's plucking at the fabric that he's hot underneath. He must not have the same ability to sweat like humans do, and he can tell Noct is having a bit of difficulty breathing right. Gladio knows he can't leave him like this, but with Ignis and Prompto currently busy, he's not sure what else to do except text them both about it, try to explain in words that Noct is made up of who knows how many species crammed into one. It shouldn't be possible, but the proof is staring down at him as Iris tries to comb his hair into something vaguely fashionable.

By the end of his impromptu makeover, Gladio's the one feeling completely put-out as he relays the entire story to Iris, everything from first meeting the creature to Prompto and Ignis recruiting him to help sneak him out. Iris looks at him worriedly, knowing he could have easily been caught and killed right there. It's not the best decision he's ever made, but something tells him that it would have been worse had they left the creature in Verstael's care. The things Verstael would have done could have been devastating on a global scale, and there's no telling that they won't still try and capture more of Noct's kind to bring back to the lab. He can't let that happen, but what can he do? His hands are just as tied as Prompto's and Ignis'. 

"When is he going back home?" 

"I don't know," Gladio answers truthfully, "but you and I know he can't stay here." 

His sister frowns before reaching out to place her hand over Noct's and touch it, a move that makes the creature react skittishly as his shoulders stiffen up followed by the rest of his body jerking away, but Iris is never deterred. "We're your friends," she tries to assure him with a smile before elbowing Gladio.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm your friend, too," he grumbles out reluctantly, "even if you are a royal pain in the ass." 

But he's _their_ royal pain in the ass, for better or for worse. They're all in this together, and he'll see it through to the end. They'll get him home.

Noct's mouth quirks a bit before he relaxes enough to let Iris hold his hand. His gaze then lands on the wound now marring Gladio's flesh, the stench filling the air between them before Noct closes his free hand into a fist and presses it to his own chest. He then rotates the closed first in a clockwise motion -probably a sign Ignis taught him. Gladio will have to ask him what it means later, but he's content with whatever it is for now. Noct's expression already speaks volumes. 

 

**013.**

It's not until the train ride back to the dormitories that Prompto can finally glance at his phone, reading through the texts that Gladio sent him. One by one, his eyes flick over the words, unable to comprehend the reality behind them.

_'...Noct has legs...'_

_'...Iris knows everything...'_

_'...lent him your clothes...'_

The last text is simply a request to hurry up and "get his ass over here." If only Prompto were able to bolt from work any faster, but he knows he cannot leave his shift early for any reason. MTs aren't allowed to have excuses. No families who need them, no unexpected arrivals. A life with zero attachments. It's what makes them such an optimal labor force, but he wants to see everything for his own eyes, willing the train to speed up. Instead, it seems to stall even longer than usual at every station and even halts in one for longer than fifteen minutes. The most agonizing wait of his life as he hears the announcer drone on in the background, telling them that they're having technical difficulties. _We thank you for your patience._ No sweet-toned feminine voice can erase his frustration at the moment as he contemplates just taking a cab the rest of the way or walking. Anything has to be faster than just sitting still while his life seems to mutate right under his nose. 

All that they'd known or thought about Noct had been scraps, only a fraction of what he really is. Maybe not just a creature or an animal but something else entirely. Prompto rewinds through all the images Noct had shown him up until now, struggling to understand what they mean. He knows Noct has his people, has his own family, maybe even a girlfriend or mate. He also knows they were attacked and Noct taken by Gralea, but before that, what was his life like? How old is he? What had he experienced? What brought him joy back then? 

There's still so much he wants to ask, but he doesn't know if he'll get that chance at all. Time is feeling as elusive as ever as they get closer to being caught. Between the Chancellor's interrogation and all the disposals of the other MTs that were on duty that day, he knows his own fate would never be a good one. Extermination looms around the corner as he tries to will his pulse to calm, tries to close his eyes and just relax, breathe out, enjoy the rest of the train ride.

Words he doesn't bother to follow as he springs up to his feet as fast as he can the moment his own station comes into view, and he all but sprints out and runs the last few blocks to the dormitories. The elevator ride up also feels agonizingly slow as do the multitude of security checks, having to be scanned in thrice before he can head into his room.

He's close to panting as he rushes inside before freezing, unable to process the scene before him quickly enough. His mind is racing faster than the rest of him can keep up with as he takes in Noct sitting human-like eating a bowl of cereal and Gladio and Iris bunched up on the other side of the table, talking casually as though there isn't a fish man sharing the same breathing space with them. It's such a ludicrous sight that he can't help but crack a grin and push his fingers through his hair, surrendering to a bit of a delirium as he drags his feet over the hardwood floors. 

"You really hid all that, Noct?" he asks as he watches Noct hold the spoon like an infant would before pushing the cereal between his lips. 

The creature's eyes then slide up to meet Prompto's, his gaze sharp and scrutinizing before Prompto watches those oddly shaped pupils seem to widen a bit and grow glassy. For a moment, Prompto worries that Noct is upset at him, especially when his gaze shifts away fast and aims downward, and his form starts to hunch a bit more pronounced over the table. 

"Hey, I was only gone for a few hours... come on," he says more softly, reaching out to touch Noct on the shoulder before realizing that his scent is back to be overwhelming. 

It's almost as though he's being slammed in the face with a gust of it and feels it crawling right down his esophagus and into his lungs where it pulls apart all the tissue, embeds itself inside the deepest layers until Prompto can't escape him even if he wanted to. He suddenly wants to bury his nose tight against his ear and breathe him in from the back of his scalp to the nape of his neck, but he doesn't know how or where to begin. 

Gladio must sense the awkwardness between them because he's immediately scraping his chair back and taking Iris by the arm. "You two have probably got a lot to talk about," he says though not without humor as his lips curl into a sardonic smile, "we did all we could to try and domesticate him a bit. Iris even did a number on his hair." 

Prompto can tell as he can see a bit more of Noct's eyes with the layers evened out as they are and framing his face in a way that makes him look more demure rather than unkempt. He really could easily pass for a human right now, certainly more than Prompto could. Just a thick pair of shades and long sleeves, and no one would be wiser. 

"It's not bad. Could have done with a bit more styling, but I'll give it a pass," he tells them. 

He then tosses Iris a grateful grin and a thumbs up before Gladio's sister giggles gently. "Can we come back to see him? He's really cool-looking, and I taught him how to fist bump." 

She holds her fist out to demonstrate to which Noct awkwardly responds by extending his fist on cue and bumping it against hers. There's something all too heart-warming about the scene, the vestiges of something far more intelligent and sensitive than any of them initially surmised breaking through the longer they spend around Noct. Who knows what other knowledge is stored deep in that head of his, but he nods at Iris' question.

"Anytime. He could use a lot more friends since he's kind of bad at the whole socializing thing." Understandably but Prompto still can't help but tease him good-naturedly. "Let's get a pic before you go. Scrunch up together, come on." 

Gladio stands behind Noct while Iris hugs one of his arms and Prompto takes his spot against the other. Pressed this close makes it harder to ignore the second cool blast of fragrance to his face and the way his blood cells all seem to tighten with a sudden amount of tension beneath his skin, like his body is all too keenly aware that it's _Noct_ next to him, a fact that he tries to ignore as he snaps a quick selfie for the wall. He'll have to get one with Ignis in it some day but for now, he's content as he follows Gladio and Iris towards the door. 

"Anything else I should know before you go?" 

Gladio's eyes move towards where the empty tub now lies before landing back on Prompto's. "Be careful. I don't think we can keep him locked up for very long. He sprouted those legs for a reason." 

The underlying implication being that Noct is growing restless out of the ocean, or he might be regaining his powers after having them jammed for so long. There's no telling what he's capable of now or what he would do were he on the loose. Prompto is still having his doubts about how long they can keep him. 

"I know... I know. Keep trying to get a hold of the Commodore." 

The human gives him a nod before he finally steps out, leaving an unsettling silence in his wake. The quiet buzz of the refrigerator suddenly sounds so loud as do the cars passing just outside the window. Even from the seventh floor, he can hear the other MTs exchanging reports and preparing for the morning shift as the sun starts to rise. The gilded rays spill through the window panels and bathe the room in gold and red hues that make Noct's visage look so much warmer, and Prompto has to keep stamping down on the urge to feel the skin around Noct's cheek bones, see if he's as hot to touch as he looks at the moment. 

Noct can probably tell he's staring at the moment because he sits up a bit more stiffly and brushes his fingers over his trimmed hair before toying with the spoon a bit. It's such an inelegant yet playful gesture that Prompto finds himself rooted to his chair, absolutely entranced as his own skin boils beneath his clothes. So much about Noct feels like it was built with an allure that he doesn't know how to wield, and Prompto is just stumbling over his own attraction in an effort to get closer, understand him, _be_ with him. His own voice feels too deeply lodged in his throat to find any release, and his whole body has transformed into an unsteady yet punctuated heartbeat that seems to be eternally reacting to how Noct's forehead had felt against his that day.

The messy way he pushed their skin together, how the lurid broil of his flesh made Prompto's dick throb mercilessly. It feels like he's going through those same motions again, feeling so dizzy he can't seem to get a hold of himself, something debased and _hungry_ overpowering his reason. It's the most human he himself has ever felt, awakened to the raw newness of yearning. Wanting to rub his fingertips on Noct's scaled skin, wanting to prick his flesh with his own teeth, wanting to see how much warmer his body has grown on the inside -if it's hotter than his feverish surface. 

The more the thoughts come unbidden, the more Noct seems to move his hand across his own cheek, restlessness guiding his actions until Noct finally bolts out of the chair, and his hands grab fistfuls of the t-shirt he's wearing, practically tearing it off his onw body as he hastily removes it then pushes the sweat pants half-way down his thighs, letting them precariously hang and showing off the scales hugging his muscles.

Prompto's gaze follows Noct's erratic hand movements as they move through the motions of two crudely performed signs, and he has to comb his memory to remember what they mean. When it finally does dawn on him, his eyes widen, breath sucked in so tight that his trachea might burst, unwilling to believe what he thinks he's reading from him. 

_'Touch.'_

_'Kiss.'_

Signed one after the other in rapid succession then repeated until Noct ends with the last sign, rotating his closed right-hand fist in a clockwise motion .

_'Sorry.'_

For what? For wanting him? For wanting to be wanted? Prompto should be the one apologizing, unsure what's going on with Noct or how things have come to this. He just knows he wants whatever it is, too. No rhyme or reason. No logical explanation. He wants to do all that and so much more, and they can blame it on pheromones all they want. But even without them, he thinks he'd still want to touch and kiss him because.

He simply doesn't want to be alone. 

The truth he'd kept so buried for years, a reality he's had to live out everyday. MTs weren't made to experience longing. To want to forge connections. They're not supposed to feel this way, and yet, he can only lie to himself for so long. He wants to be close to someone, _something_. He wants to know what it's like to be wanted, remembered, to have a family, to fall in love, fall out of love. Feel his heart soar, feel his heart break. Feel Noct under his skin, feel Noct inside or around him. Kiss him, keep him, let him go, miss him. He wants everything Noct wants to give, but he can't bring himself to say it, biting on his tongue as he struggles to convince himself it's even true. 

And if he gave him what he wanted, would Noct regret it? Would they both regret it? Does Noct even understand how intimacy works? 

Noct doesn't let him mull over that question any longer as he answers it for him by tugging him in, burying his finger nails into the small of back and pushing him close until their foreheads touch. Then he sees it -a heavy barrage of images, sharp storm grey eyes, an older creature, the feeling of their bodies linking together, being covered like a shroud, held down, the sensation of pleasure rippling through Noct's body so visceral that Prompto shudders from it. Small braids fall over the older creature's shoulder, hands around Noct's, fingers laced, a kiss that seems to breathe new life into one another. 

"Your boyfriend?" Prompto croaks out before asking the same in sign language to which Noct answers 'No' before tugging his forehead back in against his own. 

There's a beautiful crystalline cave, the sight of other water creatures pressed together, bodies almost fused from the compress. He watches as though seeing it through Noct's eyes, hypnotized by the sensuality of it. He can see the patterns of scales on their backs and legs, the delicate arch of their bodies before several of their foreheads touch as Noct's and Prompto's are now. He wonders if that's their only mode of communication or what they might be telling each other in the midst of all that. The only way to find out is to try himself, so he steels himself for a bit before finally signing the bold question: _'Do you want this?'_  

Noct pulls away enough to ball his right hand into a fist before moving it up and down.

 _'Yes.'_  

That's all Prompto needs right now as he grabs Noct by the face, hands hugging both his cheeks as he tugs him for a kiss. It's rough and messy, a harsh press of his mouth against Noct's, trying to convey years of frustration in just a few seconds before his hands climb up his hair, threading through the wayward strands, using his grip to yank him tighter and pry open Noct's lips so he can breathe into him. He tastes the sugar on Noct's tongue, sweet-stained from the cereal that he can't help licking the remnants of as he roams his mouth, unsure what he's really looking for. He just knows it feels unbearably good and he can't stop, doesn't know if he ever should. Definitely doesn't ever _want_ to as the scent around Noct starts to suffocate him. 

Skin drenched in salt and citrus and something close to fresh cut sandalwood. He licks a wet path up his chin, kisses the top part of his mouth, tastes the surface of his warm flesh as though he's trying to imprint some part of himself in it. Will Noct remember him when he goes? He really wants him to just as he knows he might never be this close with anyone else. No one would accept him, knowing what he is, but all of that is obsolete to Noct who embraces him, who bunches his shirt in his fingers, plucks it out, desperate to drag his hands down the curve of his spine. It feels unbearably good, and Prompto wants more of him, whatever he can reach, pushing down Noct's sweat pants the rest of the way before walking him backwards into the bedroom. 

Noct seems to be following his lead as he fights with his belt, grows frustrated enough with the buckle to simple crouch down and tear through the leather with his teeth. His pants come off with a loud 'ping,' a stray button that simply rolls away piteously as Prompto watches Noct attack his clothes with all the dexterity of someone who's never learned how they work, and there's something alluring about it his carelessness, about the primitive way his fingers claw at him, the abandon with which he drags them to the bed and locks a leg around him as though Prompto would even think of escaping. 

There is possession in that action, mirrored in the way Prompto's body ends up cradled by Noct's scaled arms as he kisses Prompto's chin, scrapes his teeth down the curved arc of Prompto's throat before releasing a shuddered breath against it. All the while Noct's skin feels freshly scorched, still feverish to the touch as though there is nothing but pure fire in his veins, searing its way out, and Prompto can't help but fall prey to the way he feels against him. Hard-edged hips pushed tight to his own, the ticklish surface of his scales rubbing against Prompto's bare skin in a way that shouldn't feel as erotic as it does, yet his cock is pressed against the flimsy fabric of his underwear, aching for attention the more Noct teases him. 

It's agonizing to try and pull away, but he does try to fit in a quick sign, asking Noct if he's okay and hoping Noct doesn't tell him to stop. For a moment, his breath stills in his throat, and he stares down uncertainly at Noct's pretty face, hypnotized by the way Noct's pupils have erupted, turning his eyes to a deeper midnight color around the center. The rays of light peeking through the blinds make it look like there are stars dancing on the color, and he's trapped and pulled in by the gravity of those stars, turned into an unwitting piece of matter that might very well collide into the surface and find himself devoured. 

Noct doesn't bother answering him at all with a sign back, instead taking Prompto's hand and guiding it between his own legs where his skin feels even hotter somehow, shown how to move across it, squeeze out a groan from Noct's bruised lips as Noct cups the back of Prompto's neck with his other hand. He's guided forward, pushed forehead to forehead with Noct again before he hears something soft against his ears. The whisper of words that seems to arrange themselves slowly until Prompto can faintly make them out. 

 _'...I trust you...'_  

That's the one punctuated emotion he can pick up from their connection, a lone expression that seems to splinter its way into Prompto's skull until he nods more to himself than Noct. Even though he's afraid, even though he has no idea what he's doing, it's fine. It's fine so long as Noct wants it, so he plunges forward, messy as he clenches Noct's cock in his hand, even messier as he strokes him, feels the way Noct pumps his hips off the hand to fuck his fist before he watches Noct scrabble to find purchase on something, sharp nails inevitably shredding the sheets and mattress below. Prompto doesn't worry about it all, too enthralled by the way Noct looks as he fractures before him, surrenders fast to the feeling of being touched, and Prompto wants more still. More of him, more of his labored breaths, more of the way water dusts Noct's lashes when he screws them shut, more of the dark-eyed intensity as Noct comes close to inhabiting the role of the beast Niflheim had known him. Untamed, _starved_.

When Prompto stops to rifle around his bedroom drawer, he's suddenly confronted with the full brunt of Noct's crankiness, the creature sitting up and trying to force Prompto's hand to keep moving.

"Wait, hold on a sec! Just trying to get the ...the, uh stuff." How does he even explain lubricant to a sea-creature? He wonders if Noct has ever even used any before or if he is just naturally lubricated, being from the sea and all. Maybe it's something he's about to find out, though Noct is quick to eyeball the bottle with skepticism. 

It's technically contraband, but Prompto had sneaked it just for curiosity's sake and had made that a regular habit. Nothing anyone needed to know because MTs are technically not supposed to feel aroused, but it's just another strike against him in the long list of things wrong with him. He's reaching the point where he's done feeling apologetic about everything he can't overcome and just wanting to indulge himself if only for a moment because Noct is feeling this too. Nothing that needs a name, but they both are throwing themselves deep inside it nevertheless, and Noct doesn't back away when his fingers move between his legs nor when they push inside. There's sudden understanding in his features, body unwinding from all the tension of moments ago as he relaxes his posture and instead reaches out to push the fabric of Prompto's underwear down. 

Noct's hands are no longer as cold and slimy as they once were when they slide over his skin, touching him with curiosity and wonderment, reaching out to cup his balls and give them a light squeeze while his fingers glide over the entire length of his cock. There's nothing hesitant in his actions, the touch filled with a fervent urgency instead as though he were doing everything in his power to drag Prompto's release right out of him, and he can feel himself succumbing to the heated grip of Noct's palm, grinding against his soft skin to get some sort of friction until Noct gets the idea and starts to stroke him without relent. The sensation leaves him dizzy and elated, floating without any ground beneath him, completely weightless and possessed as he hears his own excited panting echo off the walls.

He's half-afraid it'll scare Noct off, but at the same time, he's too enthralled to stop, to slow down and be afraid, to overthink anything to the point of becoming self-conscious. Hypnotized by Noct's scent, desperate to plunge inside of him, to feel Noct, _to lose himself in all of this_ , all driving him to the brink of insanity as he presses his own fingers deeper into Noct's body, tries to stretch him as much as those muscles would allow -tries to wring out every fresh gasp and hoarse groan from him.

He knows he's losing it further when Noct clenches his hand around him, cradling his cock so tight that he feels it ache against his fingers, muscles locking up with every urge to let go right now, come in threads against Noct's hand like he wants. Only Noct doesn't let him, almost instinctively sensing how far he's been rubbed raw, to the point where he's a bunch of naked nerve endings against his finger and any slight touch will force him to burst. He's shaking with his frayed will, biting out Noct's name in a single breath before Noct withdraws completely, even pushes away the fingers crooked into his body. 

For a moment, everything simply hurts, the cold spray of air erupting on all the exposed skin that Noct just abandoned, and Noct edges his body back, making Prompto think for a moment that he may have hurt him somehow. He doesn't know how to read that ever-shifting expression on his face before Noct beckons him forward, legs spread enough to fit him, his eyes only aimlessly flicking up to meet Prompto's, the same uncertainty lingering across his strained features. 

It's all the invitation Prompto needs as he lurches forward to kiss Noct's forehead while whispering, "I won't hurt you. Promise."

Another kiss placed on Noct's nose then the last against his mouth, all the reassurance he can give, and he feels Noct's fingers move into his hair, brushing through them as though they were made of spun gold. Then a small voice leaks out, whispered and hoarse, sounding out each syllable with care.

_"Pur-omp-toh..."_

Murmured against his lips, but they might as well have been whispered to him from some ancient deity. That could be the case now, still unsure of what Noct even is or what he himself feels except something in him snaps when he hears those words, a proverbial dam that crumbles as he suddenly grips Noct's neck and crushes their mouths together, worships the mouth that spoke out loud his name. 

It's all he's ever wanted to hear him say, and he's so happy that he can't bear himself. So happy that he _needs_ to be inside Noct right now, his other hand plunging into the small of his back, raising Noct's lower body enough to push inside. And still, it's not enough - _it's never enough_ \- even with Noct's flesh closing all around him, the tight compress of heat that steals away his ability to think, breathe, _move_. Yet he slides into him, buries himself too fast, thrusts without thinking, without waiting, drowns in the sound of Noct breathing through his lips into Prompto's mouth. The same cereal taste moves down his throat, but it's nowhere near as mind-numbingly good as the way Noct clenches beneath him, angling his hips to meet his thrusts, slamming his body as though he's possessed by the same madness. It's easier to surrender if it's the two of them, easier to pour himself inside of Noctis, to bite his lips, lick his chin, drive out every sound from his hoarse throat until he's on the verge of cracking just from watching Noct lose control.

If only he could make it last an eternity, fucking him like this, feeling his back scratched bloody by those claws, the pain and pleasure tearing him into different directions, and Noct looks at him with half-closed eyes, keeps watching him without any hint of disgust or repulsion. He doesn't know what he did in this lifetime to deserve this, but he'll do it again in every lifetime if they could end up in this exact moment each time. If he could be embraced this way, if he and Noct could breathe the same air and melt into one another for the rest of eternity.

But the feeling doesn't last as his orgasm is practically ripped out of him, a full-bodied clench of all his muscles after having been wound up tight so long. They all suddenly release at once, letting him succumb to the pleasure that ripples through him in waves as he buries his face in Noct's neck and twists his fingers into the fabric of the pillow by his head. A keening noise erupts from his throat, biting his lip to try and keep from screaming like he wants, and he doesn't know if Noct has come either, only feels his legs suddenly wrap around him and tighten as though he's trying to force him to spill everything as deep into him as possible.

The iron-tight grip of his muscles only loosens when Prompto has finished shaking on top of him, and he pulls away to find something clear and sticky on his own stomach. A part of him wants to reach down and taste it but worries it might look too weird. There's also no telling what it could do to him, but he can see just from looking at it that it's different from a human's. The smell, the consistency... it's almost like syrup, but he doesn't wipe it away either as he glances up at Noct's eyes, watches him relax against the pillows looking thoroughly well-fucked and more regal than anyone in his position should be allowed. 

It might be the simple way he lounges his head back and closes his eyes as though he'd just been pampered, and there's the edge of a small smile that tugs stubbornly at Noct's mouth though he tries not to let it emerge. 

"Huh. You really liked that, didn't you?" Prompto teases before poking the creature's cheek and earning himself an irritated swat. "You were okay too, I guess." 

If Noct understood that, he gives no indication as he tries to pull away enough so that he can curl up in a comfortable sleeping position without bothering to clean himself up at all. 

"What? No pillow talk?" 

As though he were even expecting any, though it's rather endearing how childish Noct can be at times from his occasional expressions of wonderment to how quick he is to fall asleep just about anywhere. Prompto can't help but smile to himself and hope that he doesn't regret anything when he wakes up. Something tells him Noct won't, but the nagging fear is there and leaves him slightly unsettled when he finally curls up against Noct's back to sleep next to him. 

Outside, the sun seems to pierce through all the smog clouds and filter its way through the blinds, leaving Prompto feeling warmer than he has in a long time. He doesn't expect this feeling to last, but he's happy to linger inside of it for the time being. 

"Good night, Noct." 

 

**014.**

Prompto is practically soaring inside his own body as he heads into work the next day, unable to stop from almost skipping his way into his standard security checks. The MTs have been rotated again, but that fact doesn't leave much of an impression on him as he settles down for another day at work.  Yet all he can focus on is how nice it felt to wake up next to Noct, to hear the soft, easy sounds of his breathing and feel his heated body against his chest. It made Prompto almost want a repeat of that morning, but he'd done his best not to stir him up as he slid out of bed. The fragrance around him had only seemed to spread until it felt like it had permanently plunged itself into his skin, and he couldn't even bring himself to wash all of the evidence of their earlier activities from his body, as though his memories would go down the drain with it. Maybe Noct would be up for it again after work or at least eager to play a few games with him now that he's been feeling more energetic and is able to walk out of the tub. Maybe Prompto could even sneak him out for a date at the arbortoreum.

The thoughts continue to flood his mind as the MTs finish inspecting his equipment before one of the senior officers in the facility suddenly halts the process. 

"MT - 05953234, the Chancellor requested a second meeting with you." 

And just like that, all of Prompto's giddiness deflates right out of him, leaving him feeling like a man now walking to his execution. It's as though the cold hand of reality had suddenly slapped itself across his face, and he can't shake off the notion that the Chancellor might know. There's something all too calculating in his sharp-eyed expression when he greets him, the gaze of a circling coeurl who'd just happened upon a limping garula without its horde to protect it. The meat may as well already be hanging from his body in shreds, but Prompto doesn't bow his head or avert his eyes as he steps into one of the private rooms. 

The Chancellor is probably already looking for signs of weakness, any openings he can pick apart and wedge open, and it leaves Prompto on edge as he hovers near the doorway, trying not to appear as though he wants to bolt back out through it.

"No need to be so tense," the Chancellor tells him before gesturing to the seat across from him, "I'm only checking on certain developments of the case of our missing specimen." 

They really won't drop it, though he can understand why. They seemed to have been planning something big for Noct which makes it all the more critical that he can't allow him to fall in their hands, though Prompto isn't comforted by the fact that Noct is so far away at the moment where he can't see. He wouldn't know if anyone was coming that he shouldn't be expecting nor would Noct know to hide or run. 

"We have spent countless resources searching up and down the city when the thought occurred to me, a strange one I assure you, that he very well could be right beneath our noses." 

The Chancellor taps one of his fingers against his nose rather casually before smiling. It's a shark's smile, lips pulled back to show too much of his teeth, and they're blighted and yellow, as though they haven't been scrubbed in ages. The strong stench of petrol doesn't help as it thickens under Prompto's nostrils, tempting him to recoil back from the man's form though a large oak desk already separates them. 

"Hidden in this very lab somewhere or close by. See, a beast of that sort would have caused an unbelievable amount of carnage while escaping. You saw what he did to your brothers who were involved in his capture... and if you haven't," the man pauses to withdraw a tin box from his pocket. He then slides it towards Prompto before gesturing at him to open it.

Prompto's almost afraid of what's inside, hesitating for a moment before popping the lid open slowly. The smell of rotting flesh hits him fast as he stares at a pair of decomposed eyes, still able to see the color of the irises there, the same violet shade as his own. 

"Such a savage creature, isn't he? Tore these right out with his claws. Do you think he felt any remorse?" 

Probably... Prompto has never known Noct to be a callous killer. If he was pushed to this extent, it was because he'd been provoked. 

"Any tears wept for your brothers, MT - 05953234? Will you miss them?" 

Unlikely. Prompto has a harder time telling them apart from each other than the average person. Even the slightest variations are hard to detect, but he's always used that fact in his favor. 

"I have no family," he replies instead, his voice leveled as he stares unblinking at the eye balls, doing his best not to react. This is the Chancellor trying to provoke him, too, which means he _definitely_ knows something. 

"Of course not," the Chancellor concedes before rising out of his chair. This time, he takes a leisurely stroll around his office, his footsteps slowly brushing across the hard floor along with the raspy edges of his long coat. "If you feel nothing, you miss nothing. No attachments, no sympathy, no remorse. Is that right?" A single pause that lasts an eternity before the Chancellor places his hand on Prompto's chair and leans forward -leans in too close to assault him with the full-brunt of his smell- and continues, "Is that right, _Prompto_?" 

And there it is. A name no one else should know. A name Prompto made up for himself. A name that belongs to him and only him and not one that Niflheim deserves to use. 

His mouth thins into a flat line, doing his best not to flinch even as his heart starts to race, a loud booming sensation that echoes through his nerve endings. He wants so badly to run again, feeling too on edge as he tries to force out steady breaths, keeping his proverbial mask clean and unmarred. 

"I don't know-," he starts before his chair is swiveled fast, and Prompto is made to stare directly in the Chancellor's eyes before the back of his neck is suddenly grabbed, hawk-like fingers tearing into his skin as his forehead is forced up against the Chancellor's.

Then he sees it through the touch -the same underwater city, crystallized towers that stand like behemoths over an overwhelming population of sea creatures. It's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, and there's a young man with hair like flames spread over the water around him. The other creatures praise him in song, the melodies rising to tickle Prompto's ears before a single blink wipes the scene away. The young man is now chained to stone, dried out far above the water's surface as the sun eats as his skin. He struggles with thirst, hunger, suffering and weeping. Before Prompto can study the image, it's ripped out of his mind's hands, and the Chancellor peels away from his body before using one booted foot to kick the chair Prompto's sitting on back a few paces. 

"You know too much yet too little. Just as you can see what I have, I can see as you have." 

A simple, damning explanation. It never occurred to Prompto that the way Noct had communicated to him in the past would be reciprocated. He'd never once brought it up or mentioned it, but he must have seen things -things Prompto never wanted to relive. Things he would have been glad not having Noct know. And now...

His shoulders sag forward as his mind starts to race, trying to figure out what he should do next. If the Chancellor knows, then he must have sent someone to his apartment by now, or maybe he'd known a long while back and had been biding his time. Waiting for the perfect time to strike, waiting until he'd be at his most vulnerable. What if Noct's scent had been what had given him away today? He hadn't thought that others could pick up on it, but the Chancellor isn't just anyone, is he? The memories are proof enough that he'd known something about the underwater creatures for some time now.

"We can do this the easy way," the Chancellor continues, seemingly unfettered by Prompto's shock, "and you can return the specimen to us and accept a demotion. Or- well, it looks like it's too late anyway." A casual shrug of the man's shoulder as his hair shakes with his amused gesticulation.  "You're far past receiving an ultimatum."

A gun is lain out on the table, a simple revolver, definitely vintage. Prompto had never seen anyone in the empire carry that model before, and the ornate dragon design on the handle indicates it's a custom commission. _'Nothing but the best for the Chancellor'_ , he bitterly thinks to himself. 

"Instead, I'll have you convince me why you are worth sparing." 

That fiendish smile spreads across the Chancellor's lips as he sits on the corner of his desk, his arms folded like a professor daring one of his students to speak up. It's obviously a trap, one that he expects Prompto to be coerced into, but Prompto can't die here. He has to make sure Noct is safe first and get him out of Niflheim's hands, though it might be too late for that. They probably ransacked his apartment just after he left, and his mind keeps replaying the last moments he'd spent with Noct, touching his cheek, letting his fingers dance over the wisps of hair framing his face. He wondered if Noct even heard him say goodbye for what might be the last time. 

 _'I'm so sorry, Noct'_  

The single phrase replays in his mind, a restless melody before Prompto decides to do something incredibly stupid -he quickly grabs the gun and points it at the Chancellor's head, undoing the safety within nanoseconds and holding it there. "Where is he?!" he demands, feeling his hands shake already -feeling the rest of his body follow suit. 

He can make it quick. He can finish this off, but he won't know what happened to Noct. It's the one thing stilling his hands as he holds his finger frozen on the trigger. 

"You MTs are quite exquisite when you're angry. To what do I owe this occasion?" 

A passive hand brushes over his cheek, and Prompto feels something hot prickle at the back of his eyes. His fear is definitely getting the better of him, but he tries to wrestle the feeling down as much as possible. 

"Did you fool yourself into thinking you weren't expendable? Did you think that the King would have any place for you? That he cared for you as anything more than the hand that fed him?" 

He knows Noct does. _He knows._ Noct wouldn't have done all that with him if he didn't. Noct wouldn't have trusted him or said his name the way he did. He just would have gone disregarding him and never would have opened up to him. The Chancellor, _no Ardyn_ , is only messing with him to get him to drop his guard. 

And even so, the seed of doubt drives its way deep into the soil of his mind, and he feels it already growing. What if Noct had only pitied him? Or what if it was a simple 'thank you' fuck? What if to Noct, he was never meant to be more than a faded memory? Even so, it's not like he could just give Noct up like that for these imperials to do whatever they want with him. _It's not right._ Forget about his own feelings. Forget everything else. 

Noct can ignore him. Noct can hate him, but Prompto still won't let him die. 

"Tell me where he is!" he shouts stubbornly.

Ardyn's smile never fades even as he answers him by reaching over and sliding his thumb under Prompto's, forcing him to shoot. The gun goes off with a loud bang, the bullet sinking in deep inside while blood sprays all over Prompto's face. He watches wide-eyed and frozen as Ardyn's body collapses, crumpling back onto the desk, and there's so much blood oozing everywhere, onto his own clothes, onto the desk, pooling across the ground. 

His chest aches for a moment before he hears the MTs knock outside, remembers they're in a highly secure facility, and it takes Prompto all but two seconds to make sure the door is locked before texting Gladio and Ignis with trembling fingers. 

_'They know!! They're going after Noct!'_

_'Shit shit I shot the Chancellor!'_

_'What do I do? Guys?' ___

__He doesn't know at all, feeling the ache only grow all the more vivid and painful as he breathes. His head won't stay still in one spot, and he's still standing on so much blood. It's not the first person he's killed, but he's never had a name and face to go along with it. Not to mention Ardyn is a high-ranking official, which means he'll be terminated for sure without even knowing what will happen to Noct's fate. He doesn't want to drag Ignis and Gladio into it, too, but he doesn't know what else to do or who to turn to. He's never felt this afraid before, and he's struggling to get himself together and keep going as the tears burn their way out of his eye sockets._ _

__"I can't stay here... I can't."_ _

__A new mantra for him to latch onto as he tries to figure a way out between the loud banging just outside of the door and the wail of sirens just before the lights cut out. The facility is erupting into emergency mode, and the loud footfalls of other MTs can be heard even through the thick facility walls. He's too busy listening to the inside of his head that he misses the cresting screams just outside his door, a noise so piercing that all the windows on the same level start to shatter at once._ _

___'I need to get out of here.'_ _ _

__

__**015.** _ _

__Hours, minutes, seconds... Prompto doesn't know how much time passes as he tries to escape the dead body in the room with him. Even if he can't see it, he can still smell the thickness of the blood on the ground, already starting to curdle as it dries, and he has his phone light on, searching anywhere for a vent to escape. Whatever scuffle had been going on outside had died down to an eerie silence that gives him second thoughts about whether or not he should try and leave the room. There are no more footsteps or gunfire going off, only the whirling yell of the sirens as they blast off incessantly. He imagines they won't be stopping any time soon, and someone is bound to bust in here at any moment to find that Ardyn is dead on the floor. Then what will happen?_ _

__Prompto isn't sure he wants to find out, but he has no other way of escaping. Covered in blood and still shaking, he keeps searching every corner of the interrogation room before giving up. The only way in or out is through the door, and there's nothing he can do to spare himself from that fate. Whatever awaits him on the other side, he'll have to face, though it doesn't inspire him to quicken his steps as he drags his form over to the door. His eyes land on the blood-stained panel where he had entered the lock command, and he steels his breath inside of himself before undoing the command._ _

__The door then slides open with a definitive hiss, too loud and too damning for Prompto's tastes, and he half-expects for there to be a row of MTs flanking him, ready to gun him down. Instead, he finds the halls deserted, broken glass strewn across the ground, several ceiling lights hanging by their wires. Blood also stains the walls as other MTs lay crumpled on the ground helmet-less, eyes still gaping wide and lips frozen in a scream. It's a twisted glance at his own past and future, what could have easily become of him -what still might happen if he isn't cautious-, and he creeps through all the bodies, hoping to reach the labs at least._ _

__More dead MTs decorate the research wing, all of them carved up like cadavers, their intestines leaking out of torn flesh. Some were granted a quick, painless death, sporting clean bullet wounds to the head as though they'd been sniped instead of mauled. Prompto guesses that all the prisoners in the labs had been released somehow, and those inside were none too happy about their treatment._ _

__His theory is confirmed when the lab doors hiss open, and he finds several broken tanks and cages, bars undone. Researchers all lay in various positions, most of them curled up in fear as they awaited their impending deaths. A few had tried to fight back with prongs or tasers only to have ended up with their limbs brutally torn off._ _

__A gnawing feeling starts creeping around Prompto's stomach as he tries to convince himself to turn over the researcher's bodies, see if any of them are Ignis. He had to have been on duty at this time of the night, but he'd also been moved to the waste management team, which means there's a good chance he could have escaped. He's hoping for that possibility as he glances from mangled corpse to mangled corpse, having a hard time identifying who is who with their faces so badly maimed._ _

__The tank Noct had been kept in is empty, too, whatever water inside having flooded the lab floor as the blue lights now hang out of their sockets, flickering pitifully. A few more lab technicians lie on the ground, blood oozed around their forms while something buzzes incessantly on the ground. Prompto crouches down to see what it is before noticing it's a phone._ _

__A half-written text appears on the screen, the words spelling out _'S-0234 in containment b-'__ _

__That's Noct's identifier. So they _did_ manage to bring him in, but how did he get out? Did he really cause all of this? He thought they had some special jammer to control his use of magic. Too many things aren't adding up as he keeps turning over bodies, looking for clues, anything to direct him to where Noct and Ignis are. _ _

__More broken equipment adds to the symphony of noises erupting around the facility, a few sparks igniting into a fire spurned by some of the chemicals in the lab. In all likeliness, this place may be engulfed in flames before he gets too far, and his self-preservation is screaming at him to run and leave the facility. But he doesn't want to escape just yet as he ventures in deeper, winds his way around the growing fire and tries to keep searching.  A few wires swing down from the ceiling, bristling with more wayward sparks that Prompto avoids until he picks up faint moaning in the distance._ _

__It sounds familiar enough to spurn him into action as he scrambles forward until he spots a curled up figure trapped beneath ceiling rubble. Prompto rushes fast to help the figure until he sees their face, one that he could never forget. A face that's been painted into every single one of his nightmares since he was born. That twisted sneer and his beady, unforgiving eyes. The man had never looked at him with anything more than disgust. Prompto was always a failure to him, no matter how much he moved up in rank._ _

__"My son," Verstael calls out now, a rasped out in a piteous voice that makes Prompto's stomach clench painfully because he knows how many times he'd wanted to be called just that, treated like someone's family. Welcomed, _accepted._ But he knows this is a dying man's desperate plea and not the warm reception of a loving father. "Please... please, free me..." _ _

__And yet the way he whispers those words makes it hard for Prompto to simply leave him there. To be as cruel as Verstael was to him. He hates that he can't simply abandon him, let him be ruined by his own creations and experiments._ _

__"Do you know who I am?" he asks quietly as he moves closer, slowly reaching out to push the debris off of him. "What my number is? Do you remember me?"_ _

__"O-of course, I do," the man stammers, his voice growing gruffer as he struggles to speak, "I could never forget you, my son."_ _

__A word he hadn't used until today. It's filled with so much false sentiment that it might as well have been spat into his face, and Prompto wants so badly to despise him enough to kill him. But something in him refuses, so he moves the rubble away, pushes it all off with a grunt until Verstael's body is uncovered, and Prompto can see the gaping wounds on his stocky body, rivulets of blood escaping. This man won't last long anyway, but Prompto still moves his hands underneath him, still tries to support his weight, tugging on him until he can drag his form while the old man heaves out breath after breath. His mouth already smell of rot, and there's something sickly about how his rubbery skin feels touching his._ _

__Quelling his disgust proves to be difficult as Prompto continues to support the human's weight until they see the back exit of the lab in view. A few lights still flicker around it, a beacon for their escape while flames erupt around them. He still doesn't know if Noct or Ignis escaped, but he'll have to run back in from another entrance to keep searching, still unwilling to give up on them._ _

__Just as he's about to reach the entrance, something hisses through the air around him, a whistling noise that leaves Prompto on edge as his eyes dart around. He almost drops Verstael right there but barely manages to hold on. His own breath lays dormant in his throat, refusing to exhale until he watches a sharp, blazing blue sword suddenly rip through Verstael's chest from his back._ _

__The shock finally overtakes Prompto as he releases the old man fully and prepares to run, but a single scent roots him in place. Fresh citrus in the morning, rain on wood, a hint of ocean salt, all aromas he's come to associate with 'home,' and he whips his head around to find Noct's glowing blue eyes staring at him, his hand held out as several weapons hover ghost-like around his form. He's as naked as he was when he left him, though more scales have grown to cover a good portion of his legs, leaving him caught awkwardly between forms as he stalks over to the two of them._ _

__He's never looked more menacing and imperious as he does now, face full of rancor, fangs bared, his slim eyes burning as the blue miasma around him starts to flare up. Prompto doesn't know if he'll turn that rage on him, and he slowly takes a step back, bracing his body for whatever attack may come._ _

__"Noct, i-it's me. Your buddy, remember? I'm not one of the others..."_ _

__His sleeve is pulled back so he can show off his number, but Noct's eyes don't move from his. For a moment, Prompto is quite certain he'll be next and only hopes that it's quick and painless while another part of him hopes that Noct will remember him. That Noct doesn't think he set him up or was in on his second kidnapping. He would never sell him out like that._ _

__"I'm sorry, Noct... I'm so sorry. I wanted to keep you from them and get you home. I messed up."_ _

__The words are wheezed out between half-sobs, his jaw shaking too much to talk. He can feel renewed tears pricking at the bottom of his eyes, and he wishes he could have fulfilled his promise. He wishes it didn't all have to come to this. Noct should have been home by now. Maybe, in a weird way, this is exactly what he deserves for all the refugees whose lives he stole. All the times he failed to do anything when the empire was firing at innocents, dragging in all sorts of animals and other creatures to take apart and sew back together however they please. Not once did he stand up for anyone, not once did he fight. He just watched and kept his mouth shut, thinking only of saving himself._ _

__Water creeps out of his lower lid and streaks down his cheek, and he bites back the rest of his tears as he holds his hands up, a gesture of surrender. Noct simply stares at him silently, his head inclined to one side until the weapons start to dissolve into dust one by one. The energy around him also sinks back into his skin, dissipating as he moves unsteadily towards him. Then Noct reaches out, grabs a hold of the back of his neck, and pulls him into a blood-stained kiss._ _

__It's soft, barely lasting for more than a few seconds, but there's something disarming about it. As if Noct is trying to tell him he has no reason to be afraid, and Prompto is just so. Relieved. Elated. He can't contain the deluge of emotions crashing into him, unsure what part of Noct he wants to touch, where he wants to kiss him back._ _

__He ends up just hugging him and burying his face into his shoulder, not wanting to move. He doesn't know how long they'll have before reinforcements come, but he can die right here and still claim to be happy._ _

__Noct's hands eventually fold around his back, and he feels him tremble in the same way he is, his body racked with unrelenting shivers before Prompto remembers he'd sent out a message to Ignis and Gladio earlier. He hadn't even thought to check his phone until now, having been so absorbed in Verstael, the destruction, _everything_. He'd forgotten that Ignis was also in danger, and he's quick to check his inbox to find message after message coupled with ten missed calls. _ _

___Gladio: 'Where are you?'_ _ _

___Gladio: 'Answer us!'_ _ _

___Gladio: 'Prompto, are you there? Give us an update!'_  _ _

___Ignis: 'I'm coming. Stay there.'_ _ _

___Ignis: 'I'm sorry. The facility is now on lock-down'_ _ _

___Gladio: 'Prompto, where the hell are you? I'm OTW'_ _ _

___Ignis: 'I have lost access to every other wing. There is a definite security breach.'_ _ _

___Gladio: 'Damn it, Prompto, answer us!'_ _ _

___Ignis: 'Something set off the alarms. There's a fire in the east wing as well. We're evacuating. Prompto, get out of there.'_ _ _

___Gladio: 'I'm here, but they're not letting me in. Prompto, get out now!'_ _ _

__They must have tried to call him after that because that's where the messages stopped. He frowns, hoping that's enough indication that they made out, but he doubts this place will survive as he fire starts to spread and eat through all the floors and hallways along with blocking off the entrance that he had just been heading towards._ _

__"We have to go," he tells Noct before grabbing him by the forearm and tugging him along._ _

__Contrary to the primal image he made before, Noct now follows him like a lost puppy, his eyes wide in panic as he moves around the flames that threaten to singe off layers of his skin. Prompto can hear him breathing tiredly, and he wonders if it's good for him to be in all this extreme heat. He can barely stand it himself, raising his undershirt and covering his mouth and nose with it before breaking into a run._ _

__Noct pads on after him, his steps heavier and more unsteady until they reach the emergency stairwell. It's clearer in there, enough that Prompto can call Ignis back and just hope he picks up. His breath stills in his throat as the ringing seems to persist for an eternity before Ignis finally responds-_ _

__"Prompto, where have you been? Gladio and I were searching you before the fires broke out?"_ _

__"Long story. I have Noct with me. Where do I meet you guys?"_ _

__A pause on the other line, presumably for Ignis to relay the news to Gladio. "Head to the roof. We can pick you up from there."_ _

__Prompto balks at the reply. "What do you mean the roof? We want to get out of here? Not go further into the fire."_ _

__"Trust me," Ignis tells him in response._ _

__There's no one more trustworthy than Ignis, but even Prompto has his doubts about this one. What are the chances that the two of them would be waiting on the roof? His hand tightens reassuringly around Noct's arm before he leads him up the stairs. Fortunately, they lead straight to where they need to go and aren't flooded with as much smoke as the halls are, but the smell of fire is becoming all the more oppressive as they near the higher levels. He can also tell Noct is unused to walking so much on two legs when he keeps tripping along the stairs and hunching over like he's run a marathon._ _

__"I know, but we gotta keep on going!" Prompto shouts to him._ _

__If he could carry him there, he would, but that's more Gladio's territory. All that genetic enhancement hadn't done much to improve his upper arm strength. He barely even got Verstael that far before he was killed, though Prompto hasn't given himself much time to really process it. His mind is too busy focusing on just surviving as he pushes himself up each flight until they reach the last floor. His barcode still works to get the door to the roof open, though Noct is completely out of strength by then and practically crawling after him, his expression pained and miserable._ _

__His hands hook under his under-arms to tug him up the last few steps before he's suddenly assaulted by a flood of lights, blinding him as something hovers just a few meters overhead. A ladder is tossed down their direction, and Prompto can see Gladio and Ignis peering down from him._ _

__"How did you...?!" he tries to ask over the heavy turbine winds of the magitek carrier._ _

__"Long story!" Gladio shouts back before holding out a hand to help them both climb up._ _

__Prompto pushes up Noct's body first, making sure he gets up inside safety before he follows, pulling himself up as quick as his legs would allow him. He doesn't let himself breathe until he's seated inside, already drowned in buckets of his own sweat and grime, and he can't help but feel forlorn as they start to pull away from the facility. For so many years, it was the only place he could call home, having grown up in those metal walls, having trained and become a full MT in there. Now, it's been left to ash, devoured by the voraciousness of the flames inside of it and serving as a mausoleum for all of Verstael's twisted machinations._ _

__He hadn't been sure what to really say as the old man's lifeless body fell, perhaps only regretting he didn't have the heart to deliver the final blow himself. Maybe a part of him still wanted to see that man as his father, but he really has severed all his ties to that place. Where he goes from here... he doesn't know. He's never thought about life outside of Gralea or what he'd even do. He's always been made to serve, but with no one to serve, who does he follow? If only he could join Noct at the bottom of the ocean, sink all the way down with him, spend his life getting to know the crystal palace he lives in. Getting to know Noct in his natural habitat, unleashed and happy._ _

__His eyes find Noct's as the thoughts roll through his mind like somber waves, and he tries to give him a reassuring smile._ _

__"You're going home," he tells him before signing the word for home._ _

__Noct watches his fingers quietly then responds by signing the word _'sleepy'_ at him. _ _

__Prompto can't help but chuckle and mutter, "How'd I know you'd say something like that?"_ _

__

__**016.**  _ _

__The flight manages to be short with Aranea at the helm, living up to her reputation as the commodore. She's nothing short of direct and imperious as she orders her crew to take them to the seas around the now defunct capital of Lucis. Prompto is so tired he can barely lift his limbs any more, body sprawled on one end of the carrier while Noct pillows his head on his shoulder, snoozing away blissfully. Gladio sits across from him, looking worriedly while Ignis follows the news updates on his tablet, his brow increasingly furrowing as his eyes move across the screen._ _

__"For some reason, they have not reported the Chancellor's death, though you're certain he was killed."_ _

__"They might not even know he's missing yet," Prompto replies, "Maybe no one even knew he was supposed to be there that day."_ _

__Prompto remembers it too clear, that unnerving gaze that stripped him clean, bore into his barest components without relent. He must have been able to read everything about him in that one touch, forehead to forehead, moving through Prompto's memories like a winding snake and prying his way into every one of them. Yet the memories he saw in return looked so distant, as though the man himself hadn't revisited them in a long while. Was that even him inside of them? Flames for hairs and a tail in pure white and gold. It couldn't have been... that would mean he's the same kind of creature as Noct. Why would someone like that have been serving as the Chancellor of Niflheim?_ _

__He wishes he could ask Noct about it, but there's a chance he might not know what he's talking about. He also doesn't want to burden him with so much when they're close to getting him home. It's better if Noct lives his life more carefree, finds his family down there, finds no reason to return to the surface ever again. Even so, Prompto's the one who's trying to find the will to say goodbye as he clutches Noct's hand in his and squeezes around it. He'll never meet someone like him nor could he forget him. He doesn't know where this aimless future will take him, but Noct... Noct will always be something else. A bright blue star amid the red-yellow glow of every other, someone his heart won't allow him to ever forget._ _

__The carrier nears its way closer to the docks by the sea, left emptied and destroyed after the attack. A few broken boats float in the harbor, covered in webs and decay, waiting for someone to put them out of their misery. The waves knock them hard into one another, and only chains seem to keep them tethered. The sun is already rising in the distance, peaking over the long expanse of midnight water as yellow rays stretch out over their forms, and Noct finally stirs next to him in time to watch the beautiful sight._ _

__"Never thought I'd see what it looks like this far out of Gralea," Prompto absently comments before shielding his eyes from the brunt of its luminosity._ _

__Ignis can't help but peer out at it as well, a small smile tugging at lips usually shaped into hard line. "Neither did I. It is even more breath-taking than I remember."_ _

__"How I missed it," Gladio concurs before Prompto finds his phone to snap a picture of it._ _

__It will never do the image justice, but with all his photos now abandoned back in his apartment, he'll have to start somewhere. New memories, new records to keep. The world is filled with a lot of things he's never seen before, and he wants to capture all of it if only for a while. He moves his lens towards Noct next who yawns tiredly and moves a hand through his mussed up hair. How he'll miss that clueless, sleepy-eyed expression of his. He can't help but capture that, too, before telling Noct to say _'cheeeese.'__ _

__Noct only blinks owlishly in his direction before letting out a huffed, amused sound and raising his fingers in a v-shape. Probably something he picked up from one of the shows they watched together. It's so corny  that Prompto can't help but swing himself around the lens to join him, tugging Noct close and making the same sign._ _

__"Hey, don't leave us out of it!"_ _

__Gladio scrambles in and squeezes Ignis to his side until they're all in frame for one last picture with them all. Prompto can't wait to print it out, put it somewhere where he can see it everyday, though he still wonders what will happen to all four of them now. They're essentially criminals of the empire. There will likely be bounties on their heads, assuming anyone even catches wind they survived the fire. Speaking of which-_ _

__"What happened to Iris?"_ _

__"Got her out first with Aranea's help," Gladio explains, "She was taken to Lestallum and hid there. I'm going to join her after this."_ _

__So Gladio had his own plan all along. Not unexpected, considering the guy's military expertise, though he's got to tell him one day what strings he even pulled to get Aranea on board with this. Probably a story best saved for later, not wanting to ruin the moment too much._ _

__Noct still looks like he's hesitant to even leave them, but Prompto knows it's for the best. He doesn't belong up here, and the longer he stays up here, the more the empire will try and take him captive again. It's safer for him to be so far below the ocean where no one can reach him even if Prompto will miss him like crazy. His first in so many things. Might even be his last, too._ _

__"Go on, Noct...," he says quietly before pointing to the water, and he can feel the pins behind his eyes again. He's always hated saying goodbyes, not that he really had much to say goodbye to before this. But it all does feel so very final at the moment. As though he'll never smell Noct on his own skin again, bury his face against his hair, never feel his soft scales under his fingertips or watch Noct's pretty night-glow. "Go home," he continues more softly before signing the word for home for him._ _

__The creature remains uncertain before them, gazing once at the water before gazing back at them. He finally nods in quiet understanding, his eyes starting to crinkle at the corners and become glassy. His right hand flattens itself before he places it palm-first near his lips then lowers it as though he were blowing a kiss._ _

___'Thank you,'_ he signs before he slowly turns away and moves towards the water with open reluctance._ _

__The three of them watch him quietly, keeping their gaze pinned to Noct until he jumps inside and sinks beneath the surface. When he rises back up, his legs have fused again to form his brilliant blue tail, the scales glinting with the morning sun before Noct floats on his back to keep staring them as he swims. Prompto's eyes follow him until he disappears into the water for good, his form swallowed up by an endless ocean where he will never be able to hear him or see him, but maybe one day, Noct can come out here again. Maybe there's still hope that Noct will swim back and meet him._ _

___'I want to find you again.'_ _ _

__It's the only comforting thought he carries with him as he prepares to board the carrier again only to be stopped by the sound of something splashing nearby. For a moment, he thinks it's Noct having returned, and he can't help but bolt towards the water like a mad man until he peers over the side of the dock and spots something red fanned out beneath the surface. A sallow face stares up at him, pale, decayed eyes oozing out congealed black liquid, and Prompto's heart stops fast as he scrambles back, already reaching for a gun that isn't there._ _

__"What is it!" Gladio asks as he peeks in towards the same spot, only by the time he arrives, a blink turns the water clear once more. Free of any apparitions._ _

__Surely a hallucination. Prompto's certain of it, but it doesn't stop his limbs from trembling as he shakes his head fast. "It's nothing, let's go," he says quickly, wanting to forget it. Wanting to leave that man's stare behind, let it only visit him in his nightmares._ _

__He's gone, and Noct is free. Prompto can rest easy, yet his heart remains unsettled as he boards the carrier, fingers curled forward as he thinks of the one that laid against the trigger earlier. The one that took the Chancellor's life. He watched the bullet pierce that man's skin, yet he can't help but wonder now why the Chancellor wanted him to do it._ _

__Maybe in his own way, he also wanted to be free of all this, or maybe..._ _

__His eyes move out the window as he breathes out slowly, convinces himself that he's overreacting. That Noct will be okay without them. They'll definitely meet again some day._ _

__

__**\- Epilogue -** _ _

__Ten years have passed since the destruction of Niflheim's main research facility, the rubble excavated carefully to recover what the empire could before the rest was trashed. Close to three hundred MTs perished inside, not even counting the embryos that had been developed there, and Verstael was honored among the empire as a hero, known for reinventing their military strategy seemingly over night with the development of his clone army. The Chancellor had delivered a speech in his honor and expressed his condolences over the employees who worked there -who dedicated their life's work to the empire. They would be missed yet not forgotten. The full Niflheim pageant, and Prompto had  been left wondering just who it was he really shot back in the facility that day. An innocent? Another MT like him? Some doppelganger?_ _

__The question had haunted him for the rest of the decade as he traveled like a nomad from city to city, blending in with the world, disappearing inside of its many crowds. He'd scrounged up enough funds for a decent camera so he could record his adventures but only had so few to share them with. Gladio had remained in Lestallum with Iris while Ignis had joined the refugee effort in rebuilding Insomnia._ _

__The city now holds a decent population of people, still a shadow of its former glory, but hotels had risen among the ruins along with military encampments, convenience stores, restaurants, and arcades. The night scene isn't as eclectic as what Ignis had shown him in old salvaged magazines, but Prompto can still picture it all in his head, the theater of lights shining over them, beautiful cars speeding through the square as large billboards loom high over them, flashing a cavalcade of advertisements. Pictures could do little justice to it, but his imagination eagerly fills in the gaps as he moves through the streets, hearing faint music in the distance._ _

__The club he likes to frequent every time he visits New Insomnia is an underground joint built out of an old subway. The tracks still remain there along with a few subway carts that add more of a rebellious atmosphere to the joint, and a DJ has his booth set up in one end while there's a bar on the other, beckoning to him always as he weaves his way through a crowd of sweltering bodies all rabidly pushed up together, barely a sliver of light between them. The air down there is filled with the stagnant odor of cigarette smoke, musk, and alcohol, a combination that would be sickening if not for the hint of the tropical fragrance coming from the bar, more than likely all the wedges of lemon stashed behind there and the cocktails the bartender keeps doling out._ _

__Prompto slumps down between some college kid in a hoodie and an old guy with his head hung down from his shoulders as though he's ready to pass out any second. He can smell his sweat the most, acridly floating beneath his nose as he tries to get comfortable and order his usual. A simple glass of rum and soda that he liberally sips at while flicking through the pictures he captured that day._ _

__A beautiful sea bird perched on the rocks, rolling waves crashing against the cape, a shark's fin peeking above the surface, and a pretty girl who had her umbrella open in the sunshine. He'd been steadily improving on his shots, enough to make a steady living selling his work to magazines and newspapers which supplemented his travel budget. Whatever hadn't been earned with photos had been earned taking all sorts of odd jobs to keep comfortable._ _

__He'd also changed his appearance over time, done everything he could not to look like an MT -growing out a goatee, darkening his hair a bit, traveling with eye glasses. Barely anyone can tell he's one of _them_ so long as his bar code remains out of plain view. Most days he doesn't even get a second glance, especially as age starts to wear on him, transform him gradually. Most MTs die long before they reach old age, and he doesn't know how many years he himself has left. He just knows he's happy to spend them far out of Gralea as a veritable unknown, lost in the sea of dancing bodies, no one turning to talk to him. No one saying he looks familiar. No one questioning him when he introduces himself as _Prompto Argentum, Photographer, Explorer, and Jack of all Trades _.___ _

____It's the best life he could ask for, and he enjoys the tranquility and freedom of it while also worrying how long the empire will remain docile. Losing Verstael and all that technology was a blunt hit, but it hadn't stopped them from continuing to spread their borders and try to subjugate what few free nations remain. Who knows how long it'll be before they return to render Insomnia to ash once more?_ _ _ _

____Not that it stops anyone from celebrating the rebuilding, carefree and uninhibited, surrendering to the music and their vice of choice. Prompto can't help but tap his own boot to the beat as he reaches the last photo in his reel then tosses a good swig of his drink. He has half a mind to join the dancing, but he'd feel a little out of place among the throng of twenty-year olds, all fresh-skinned and primal as they hunt for someone to go home with that night. Even after so long, he can't help but remain loyal to Noct, from his nostalgic scent to the warmth of his skin when he had it trapped under his own, face buried into his neck, inhaling him like a dying man. He hadn't seen Noct at all since he disappeared out of view, devoured by the sun drenched water's surface, though Prompto had returned to that same spot every so often, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of him swimming in the distance._ _ _ _

____But it's been ten years of silence instead, not that he's at all surprised. Noct probably has a lot of royal responsibilities to take care of down there, and Prompto knows it would be futile to try and dive down that deep to search for him. But it doesn't stop him from replaying the faint sounds he used to hear from Noct's tank in his head through the evenings, a soft melodic tune that never fails to make his eyes feel heavy._ _ _ _

____It must be the alcohol that's making him nostalgic at the moment, finishing up his current glass before he spares a glance to the man who's half-dead next to him, already opened-mouthed with his cheek on the bar stand. The student on the other side seems to be staring at his own glass like it's made of toxic waste, though Prompto can't make out his expression with the hood covering his face._ _ _ _

____He knows it's time to leave when the old man starts to snore loudly, so he quickly fishes out his wallet to pay for his drink but not before the student tells him in a heavy accent,"You're really not going to say hi?"_ _ _ _

____Blood suddenly fills his ears, his head starting to spin fast as his face and chest grow flushed, and Prompto moves with as much subtlety he can muster as he furtively reaches for the edge of the student's sleeve and pulls it back a few centimeters. It might be something in the air that has him hypnotized or maybe a quiet suggestion that's sneaked its way into his mind, but he can't stop the sheer euphoria that rushes through him as he sees faint, blue scales there, decorating the pale skin beneath. Then a beautiful face turns to him, eyes as mirthful and alive as he remembers, taking his breath away like always._ _ _ _

____"You... ," he whispers slowly, and his heart thumps louder than the pounding on the floor around him, drowning out the frenetic dancing while he gravitates closer, wanting to bury his soul in that familiar scent before it disappears again. "...-sure made me wait a while."_ _ _ _

_____\- The End -_ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) I know I left so many loose ends, but I didn't know if I should keep writing more or if anyone would read if it was too long so I tried to wrap things up quickly. 
> 
> 2.) If anyone did get this far, yey!! I hope you liked it, brave warrior. I applaud thee.
> 
> 3.) I want to work on a GladNoct AU next but keep bouncing from ideas. If anyone is still reading, please feel free to send ideas along.


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